MISS.L.B.COMINS 


/T 


THE  UNEXPECTED  AVOWAL. 


THE 


HARTWELL  FARM 


BY 


LIZZIE   B.  COMHsTS, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  MARION   BERKLEY." 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER    AND    COATES. 


Xntered  according  to  Act  of  Confrew,  In  the  year  18T1, 

BY    A.    K.    LOUINO, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


MY    DEAR    AUNT    E.LIZA, 

/  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOS, 

NOT   BECAUSE  IT  IS   AN   APPROPRIATE   OR  WORTHY  TRIBUTE 
TO   HER   MANY  VIRTUES, 

BUT  ON  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  GREAT  LOVE 

I        BEAR       HER. 


2057011 


THE  HARTWELL  FARM. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  HARTWELL  FARM. 

"THEODORA!  Theodora!  come  down,  dear;  here's  a 
letter  for  you." 

"  A  letter  for  me  !  "  exclaimed  Theodora  Hartwell,  as 
she  ran  downstairs.  "  Who  is  it  from  ?  " 

"Your  Uncle  John,"  replied  her  mother;  "open  it 
quickly ;  I  am  quite  anxious  to  know  what  he  has  to  say 
to  you." 

Theodora  seated  herself  in  the  window,  tore  open  her 
letter  in  true  girl-fashion,  and  by  the  fading  twilight 
hurriedly  devoured  its  contents,  while  her  mother  sat 
looking  on. 

"  0  mother  !  mother!"  cried  Theodora,  jumping  up 
in  great  excitement,  "  what  do  you  think  Uncle  John 
wants?  It  is  just  like  him.  I  do  think  he's  perfectly 
splendid,  and  if  it  will  only  come  out  right,  and  I  can 
raise  clothes  enough,  and  you  and  father  think  it's  best, 
I  shall  be  radiantly  happy."  And  she  stopped,  fairly  out 
of  breath. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  if  you  will  only  tell 
me  what  it  is  all  about  I  shall  be  much  obliged  ;  as  yet 
your  remarks  are  not  very  lucid." 

"To  be  sure  !  Well,  just  listen  to  the  letter,  and  see 
if  you  ever  heard  anything  more  glorious  in  your  life;" 


6  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

and  Theodora  commenced  reading  the  letter  aloud,  throw- 
ing in  sundry  remarks  of  a  decidedly  original  nature :  — 

"  BOSTON,  July  5,  187-. 

"DEAR  LITTLE  DORA"  (Ahem  !  little,  he  might  just  as  well  have 
left  that  out)  :  "  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  because  the  Fourth  of 
July  celebration  yesterday  took  me  back  to  the  days  of  my  youth, 
when  your  mother  and  I  used  to  frighten  the  wits  out  of  your  grand- 
mother by  firing  crackers  and  burning  holes  in  our  pinafores,  or 
whether  it  was  owing  to  some  unexplainable  cause,  but  certain  I  am 
that  I  could  not  get  the  thought  of  your  mother  out  of  my  head  all 
day  yesterday ;  and,  thinking  of  the  mother,  naturally  made  me  think 
of  the  daughter.  I  believe  it  is  two  years  since  I  saw  you,  and  now 
of  course  you  must  be  a  young  lady,  but  as  you  live  off  there  in  the 
backwoods  I  don't  believe  that  you  have  come  to  the  panniers, 
and  flounces,  and  frizzes,  and  all  sorts  of  toggery  that  our  young 
ladies  in  the  city  load  themselves  with." 

"  No,  my  dear  uncle,  I  haven't  as  yet;  but  it's  a  clear 
case  of  '  Jacky  wouldn't,  'cause  he  couldn't.' ' 

"  Is  that  in  the  letter,  dear?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hartwell. 

"No,  mother,  that's  original.  Let  me  see,  where  was 
I? " 

"  At  any  rate  I  want  to  see  for  myself  what  you  are  like ;  see  if 
there  is  any  look  of  the  mother  in  you"  (Poor  man,  he's  doomed  to 
disappointment )  ;  "  so  I  propose  that  you  come  down  the  middle  of 
this  month,  and  go  with  us  to  Scranton  to  spend  ifee  summer." 

"  There,  mother,"  cried  Theodora;  "now  you  know 
the  pith  of  the  whole  thing,  —  the  creme  de  la  creme. 
Do  you  suppose  I  can  go?  " 

"Read  on,  my  dear,  read  on,"  quietly  replied  her 
mother. 

"  But  it's  dreadfully  hard  to  read  on  when  I'm  in  such 
a  state  of  excitement,  however  —  " 

"  I  know  your  father  and  mother  will  let  you  come"  (of  course 
they  will)  ;  "  it  will  do  you  good,  and  Kate  will  be  delighted  to  have 
you  with  her.  We  leave  here  the  fifteenth,  but  you  need  not  trouble 
yourself  about  the  journey;  if  your  mother  gives  her  consent,  I 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  7 

promise  to  go  after  you ;  it  will  be  a  good  opportunity  for  me  to  see 
that  famous  peach-orchard." 

"I  don't  believe  he  has  much  faith  in  the  peach- 
orchard,"  Inughed  Theodora. 

Mrs.  Hartwell  shook  her  head,  and  Theodora  continued 
to  the  end  without  making  further  interruptions. 

"Kate  says  she  is  going  to  write  you  about  what  will  be  necessary 
for  your  wardrobe ;  but  don't  think  that  you  will  be  obliged  to  be 
dressed  up  all  the  time.  Scranton  is  a  very  democratic,  independent 
place,  or  you  may  be  pretty  sure  your  old  uncle  would  not  spend  all 
his  summers  there.  Remember,  when  I  invite  you  to  go,  I  mean,  of 
course,  that  you  go  at  my  expense  ;  so  don't  worry  about  money  mat- 
ters,—  I'll  manage  all  that  myself. 

"  Remember  me  to  your  father  and  the  boys,  and  give  a  kiss  to  your 
mother  for  your  OLD  UNCLE  JACK." 

"There,  mother,  isn't  that  splendid  ?" 

"  It  certainly  is  very  kind  in  Uncle  John,  very  kind 
indeed." 

"  And  it  is  so  nice  in  him,  letting  me  know  at  once 
that  he  pays  for  everything,  instead  of  leaving  me  in  a 
horrible  state  of  uncertainty.  But,  may  I  go,  mother?  " 

"  My  dear  Theodora,  how  can  I  answer  you  so  soon  ? 
In  the  first  pl^ce,  you  have  read  the  letter  so  fast,  and 
thrown  in  so  many  comments,  that  I  can  hardly  under- 
stand it  all  yet ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  I  must  hear 
what  your  father  has  to  say.  Open  the  front  blinds, 
and  while  I  read  the  letter  over  quietly  go  and  see  that 
the  supper-table  is  all  right.  Your  father  and  the  boys 
will  be  here  directly." 

"Yes,  and  I  suppose  the  boys  will  be  as  hungry  as 
bears ;  they  have  been  way  over  to  the  east  pasture. 
Here's  the  letter,  mother,  and  do  just  say,  '  I'll  think 
about  it,'  won't  you?  For  when  you  say  that,  I  always 
feel  it  is  a  sure  thing."  And  Theodora  jumped  up  to 
see  if  the  supper-table  was  as  tidy  as  the  particular  eye 


8  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

of  her  mother  always  wished  to  see  it,  stopping  half  way 
to  throw  herself  into  a  tragic  attitude,  clasping  her  hands 
in  a  melodramatic  style,  that  on  the  stage  would  have 
moved  the  most  marble-hearted  parent.  But  Theodora's 
mother  was  not  a  marble-hearted  parent,  and  was  too 
well  used  to  her  daughter's  theatrical  outbursts  to  be 
much  disturbed  by  them  ;  so  she  only  laughed  quietly, 
^  and  settled  herself  to  give  the  letter  a  more  quiet  perusal 
than  it  had  received  from  her  impetuous  daughter. 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 


CHAPTER   II. 

DESCRIPTION. 

RICHARD  HARTWELL,  the  owner  of  Hartwell  Farm,  was 
the  only  son  of  the  late  Richard  Hartwell,  Esq.,  the 
great  landed  proprietor. 

The  son  had  inherited  his  father's  broad  acres,  the  old 
house  that  had  been  the  family  mansion  for  three  genera- 
tions, and  a  large  and  well-invested  fortune ;  but  with  all 
this  he  had  not  inherited  the  keenness,  shrewdness,  and 
natural  love  of  farming,  which  were  the  great  character- 
istics of  the  old  squire.  The  present  R:chard  Hartwell 
was  a  tall,  slightly  built  man.  with  long,  delicate  hands, 
that  had  a  habit  of  nervously  fingering  everything  they 
touched.  His  features  were  finely  cut ;  the  forehead  high 
and  full,  the  nose  straight  and  rather  sharp,  the  mouth 
small  and  sensitive.  His  eyes  were  deep  gray,  very  beau- 
tiful, but  having,  when  his  face  was  in  repose,  a  far-away 
look  about  them,  that  showed  at  once,  to  a  careful  observer, 
the  character  of  the  man.  He  was  a  dreamer. 

He  was  a  great  student,  in  fact  a  learned  man;  but  his 
learning  was  not  of  that  kind  which  could  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  every-day  things  of  this  world;  he  was 
thoroughly  unpractical. 

Shortly  after  his  father's  death  he  married  a  lady 
several  years  younger  than  himself,  Miss  Theodora  Tem- 
ple, and  bought  a  house  in  Boston,  that  he  might  better 
enjoy  the  society  of  his  many  literary  friends. 

He  intrusted  the  management  of  his  farm  to  a  man  in 


10  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

whom  he  placed  the  most  implicit  confidence  ;  everything 
was  left  in  the  charge  of  this  overseer,  who  proved  as 
unprincipled  at  heart  as  he  had  appeared  frank,  honest, 
and  trustworthy.  Mr.  Hartwell  spent  his  summers  at 
Hartwell  Farm,  roaming  about  the  woods  with  his  young 
wife,  writing  essays  on  scientific  or  abstruse  subjects,  or  in 
reading  for  hours  in  the  old-fashioned  library;  but  never 
investigating  the  books  kept  by  his  overseer,  or  taking  any 
practical  interest  in  the  place.  The  result  was,  that  in 
a  few  years  the  farm,  which  had  always  paid  its  own 
way,  and  a  handsome  income  besides,  in  the  days  of  the 
old  squire,  began  to  give  in  smaller  and  smaller  returns. 
The  shrewd  overseer  always  had  some  plausible  excuse 
ready,  which^set  the  matter  right  with  his  credulous 
employer.  Heavy  rains  or  a  drought  had  ruined  the 
crops ;  rents  had  decreased,  while  farm  wages  were  higher ; 
first  one  thing  and  then  another,  to  serve  as  an  excuse, 
and  all  implicitly  believed  by  Mr  Hartwell. 

But  one  morning  Mr.  Hartwell  found  his  overseer 
had  decamped,  taking  with  him  a  considerable  sum  in 
ready  money,  besides  all  the  account-books  belonging  to 
the  farm,  leaving  nothing  behind  him  to  show  the  sys- 
tematic course  of  swindling  he  had  been  carrying  on 
under  the  eyes  of  his  employer  for  years.  To  a  man  like 
Mr.  Hartwell  the  treachery  of  one  in  whom  he  had  con- 
fided so  implicitly  was  a  heavier  blow  than  the  loss  of 
money. 

Misfortunes  never  come  singly,  and  the  same  week 
that  showed  him  the  rascality  of  his  overseer  brought 
Mr.  Hartwell  the  news  that  the  company  in  which  all 
his  funds  were  invested  had  failed,  failed  beyond  the  hope 
of  paying  a  twentieth  part  of  their  liabilities.  He  immedi- 
ately sold  his  town  houso,  removed  with  his  family  to  his 
country  estate,  and  resolved  to  carry  on  the  farm  himself. 

For  a  few  years  he  appeared  to  prosper,  but  it  was 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  11 

only  while  the  money  received  from  the  sale  of  his  house 
lasted ;  and  that  soon  melted  away  for  he  had  no  more 
practical  knowledge  of  farming  than  a  child.  He  had 
a  perfect  mania  for  trying  to  adapt  everything  that 
grows,  from  grain  to  vegetables,  to  a  soil  foreign  to 
its  nature.  The  result  is  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, no  crops,  exhausted  soil,  and  money  out  of  pocket. 

Hard-fisted,  wiry-looking  men,  who  tilled  their  own 
land,  came  to  look  at  his  farm  with  its  wonderful,  "  new- 
fangled notions,"  made  a  few  dry,  caustic  remarks,  and 
went  away  to  laugh  in  their  sleeves,  and  wonder  what  the 
tl  old  squire  would  say,  if  he  were  alive." 

But  Mr.  Hartwell  continued  his  experiments  as  long  as 
he  had  any  money  to  spend  on  them,  and  then  gradually 
the  place  fell  into  that  state  so  wretched  to  see,  that  tells 
its  own  story  so  plainly, —  broken-down  fences,  neglected 
barns,  gates  hanging  by  the  hinges,  and  the  broad  acres 
that  once  had  been  the  pride  of  the  country  round  choked 
with  weeds  and  stubble. 

But  there  was  one  idea  to  which  Mr.  Hartwell  still 
clung  with  his  accustomed  tenacity,  and  that  was  the  peach- 
orchard  before  alluded  to  in  the  letter  of  his  brother-in- 
law.  He  had  in  his  neglected  nursery  a  few  peach-trees 
of  a  superior  variety,  which  for  three  successive  seasons 
had  yielded  a  remarkably  large  quantity  of  fruit,  which 
fact  had  so  delighted  him  that  he  immediately  deter- 
mined to  set  out  a  large  peach-orchard,  and  raise  the 
fruit  for  the  market.  His  friends  argued  with  him,  telling 
him  that  it  would  be  throwing  away  time  and  money  to 
attempt  anything  of  the  kind,  as  the  spring  frosts  and  un- 
certain climate  would  render  it  almost  impossible  to 
raise  anything  of  a  crop.  But  when  did  arguing  ever 
move  a  determined  man?  Mr.  Hartwell  listened  politely 
to  what  any  one  had  to  say  on  the  subject,  never  became 
angry  if  allusions  were  made  to  any  of  his  former  failures, 
and  forthwith  planted  his  orchard.  However,  the  peach- 


12  THE   HARTWELL    FARM. 

orchard  was  now  in  its  third  year,  and  certainly  Mr. 
Hartwell  could  congratulate  himself  upon  the  success  of 
his  experiment  so  far  as  the  appearance  of  the  trees  was 
concerned,  for  they  gave  great  promise  for  the  future ; 
they  had  bloomed  very  early  in  the  season,  and  the  young 
fruit  was  finely  set ;  they  would  certainly  yield  this  year 
as  much  as  such  young  trees  were  capable  of  bearing. 
Some  of  the  farmers  who  had  laughed  at  "  Hartwell's  last 
freak"  came  to  look  at  them,  and  seemed  really  quite 
impressed  with  their  fine  appearance,  remarking  among 
themselves  afterwards  that  "  they  shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
Squire  Hartwell  did  really  make  them  peaches  yield  con- 
siderable; but  then  this  was  a  remarkable  season." 

But,  despite  Mr.  Hartwell's  visionary,  unpractical  tem- 
perament, there  was  one  thing  to  which  he  attended  with 
the  strictest  fidelity,  and  that  was  the  education  of  his 
children. 

Theodora  and  the  boys  —  there  were  three  of  them,  Dick 
Frank,  and  Ralph — had  never  been  to  school,  and  yet  it 
would  be  almost  impossible  to  find,  always  excepting  those 
young  specimens  of  hot-house  culture  forced  into  an  un- 
natural size  and  early  bloom,  four  children  of  similar 
ages  with  such  sound,  sensible  education.  When  or  how 
Mr.  Hartwell  carried  on  his  educational  system  would 
have  been  a  perfect  mystery  to  any  one  who  might  have 
been  at  the  farm  either  for  a  short  or  protracted  visit ;  for 
Theodora  and  the  boys  seemed  to  run  wild  at  all  hours 
of  the  day,  and  studies  appeared  to  be  a  secondary  con- 
sideration. 

Theodora  Hartwell  was  below  the  medium  height, 
plump,  but  not  yet  stout,  with  a  clear  complexion,  and 
roses  on  her  cheeks  the  year  round.  Her  face  was  not 
one  that  could  be  called  really  beautiful,  yet  one  never 
saw  it  without  wanting  to  see  it  again ;  her  hair,  which 
was  of  that  exquisite  and  very  rare  shade  of  reddish- 


THE    HABTWKLL    FARM.  13 

brown,  which  has  touches  of  gold  in  it  in  the  sunlight,  was 
long,  thick,  and  curly,  and  she  always  wore  it  in  two 
braids  down  her  back ;  her  eyes  were  beautiful,  but  how 
can  I  describe  them  ?  At  one  moment  they  seemed  to  be 
al most  black,  at  another  deep  blue ;  but  they  were  in  reality 
gray,  shaded  by  long  black  lashes;  her  nose  —  well,  I 
must  confess  it — it  was  a  pug,  not  a  broad,  ugly,  turned- 
up  nose,  but  just  a  saucy,  independent  little  pug  ;  her 
mouth  was  not  a  rose-bud,  but  a  good,  sensible,  kissable 
mouth,  with  a  funny  little  dimple  in  each  corner,  and 
when  she  laughed  she  showed  a  row  of  the  prettiest 
pearly  teeth,  in  a  way  that  was  terribly  fascinating,  and 
made  one  watch  her  all  the  time  she  talked,  hoping  she 
would  laugh  again.  In  short,  she  had  one  of  those 
piquante,  bewitching  faces,  that  receive  more  admiration 
from  the  opposite  sex  than  many  others  which  could  right- 
fully lay  claim  to  much  greater  beauty.  Theodora  was 
nineteen,  but  she  seemed  years  younger  ;  not  that  she 
ever  appeared  awkward  or  verdant,  — she  was  too  bright 
and  had  been  too  carefully  brought  up  for  that,  —  but  liv- 
ing, as  she  had  from  childhood,  away  from  city  life  and  city 
girls,  she  was  perfectly  free  from  all  their  thousand-and- 
one  little  vanities  and  affectations.  Thanks  to  her  mother, 
she  had  a  good,  practical  knowledge  of  household  affairs, 
for  with  their  small  means  they  could  only  afford  to  keep 
one  servant  in-doors,  and  a  man  to  attend  to  the  out-of- 
door  work  ;  so  the  domestic  duties  were  divided  between 
Mrs.  Hartwell,  Theodora,  and  good,  faithful  Sarah,  who 
had  been  with  the  family  ever  since  before  Theodora  was 
born,  sharing  their  adversity  as  well  as  their  prosperity, 
and  feeling  herself  to  be  one  of  the  family,  as  indeed 
they  all  considered  her. 


14  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER   III. 

PREPARATION. 

I  LEFT  Theodora  setting  the  tea-table  ;  she  had  hardly 
finished  when  her  father  and  the  boys  came  in,  the  latter, 
as  she  had  predicted,  ravenously  hungry  ;  but  they  had  to 
restrain  their  appetites  until  all  traces  of  their  recent 
tramp  were  removed,  for  without  such  preliminaries  they 
were  never  allowed  to  sit  down  to  a  meal. 

"  Dode's  up  to  something,  I  know,"  said  Dick,  as  he 
took  his  seat  at  the  table;  "  her  mouth's  twitching.  Out 
with  it,  Dode  !  " 

"I  know,"  exclaimed  Frank;  "she's  had  a  letter,  — 
Joe  told  me  he  got  her  one.  Say.  Dode,  was  it  from 
Mr.  Sweeton?" 

"  Mr.  Sweeton  !  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  coloring  slight- 
ly ;  "you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Frank." 

"  Well,  he  was  a  sweet  un  on  you,  and  no  mistake," 
said  Dick;  "  but  1  didn't  believe  you'd  correspond  with 
him." 

"  If  I  couldn't  make  a  better  pun  than  that,  I'd  give 
it  up,"  replied  Theodora. 

Mr.  Hartwell  looked  up  at  the  mention  of  Mr.  Sweeton, 
who  was  the  young  minister  down  in  the  village,  at 
the  present  time  away  for  a  vacation. 

"Theodora,"  he  said,  "what  does  this  all  mean? 
Have  you  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Sweeton  ?  " 

"No,  father,"  replied  Theodora,  coloring  under  the 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  15 

mischievous  glances  of  her  brothers,  "nothing  of  the 
kind,  — it  was  from  Uncle  Jack." 

"  Uncle  Jack  !  "  cried  Dick. 

''Uncle  Jack!"  echoed  Frank, —  "is  he  coming 
here?" 

"  Well,  that  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer,"  replied 
Theodora,  looking  at  her  mother  with  a  mischievous 
expression  on  her  face  ;  "  but  I  guess  he  will." 

"  That's  jolly  !  "  exclaimed  Ralph,  the  youngest  boy, 
who  had  been  too  -busily  engaged  with  his  supper  to 
make  any  comment  before. 

"There  now,  father,"  said  Theodora,  "you  see  how 
anxious  the  boys  all  are  to  see  him  ;  but  yet  it  all  depends 
on  you  whether  he  comes  or  not." 

"Depends  on  me,  does  it?"  said  Mr.  Hart  well ; 
"  then  he  will  certainly  come,  for  I  don't  know  of  a 
person  whom  I  should  be  more  pleased  to  see  than  your 
Uncle  Jack." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  was  about  to  speak,  but  Theodora  gave 
her  a  little,  expressive  look,  and  she  kept  quiet,  letting 
her  daughter  manage  things  to  suit  herself. 

"  Well,  father,  it  depends  upon  you  whether  he  comes 
or  not,  because  if  he  comes,  it  will  be  to  take  me  back 
with  him  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  summer  at  Scranton. 
There  !  now  it's  all  out !  0  father,  do  say  yes  !  " 

"  Go  back  with  him  to  spend  the  summer  at  Scran- 
ton  !  "  cried  Dick. 

"  Go  to  Scranton  !  "  echoed  both  Frank  and  Ralph. 

"Yes,  go  to  Scranton."  repeated  Theodora.  "He 
has  written  me  just  the  nicest  letter ;  wants  me  to  come 
ever  so  much,  and  so  does  Kate  ;  pays  all  expenses,  and 
comes  after  me  himself.  Now,  father,  you  haven't  said 
a  word  ;  you  will  let  me  go,  won't  you  ?  " 

"I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  say  a  word,"  said  Mr. 


16  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

Hartwell.  "  But  what  do  you  think  of  it,  mother?  Is 
this  the  first  you  have  heard  of  it?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Hartwell.  "Dora  showed 
me  the  letter,  but  I  thought  I  would  keep  quiet  and  let 
her  break  the  ice  herself." 

"  But  about  her  going,  do  you  think  it  will  be  best? 
Do  you  see  the  way  clear?  " 

"  I  must  say  I  approve  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell. 

That  settled  the  question  at  once,  Theodora  knew. 
She  had  sat  looking  anxiously  from  one  parent  to  the 
other,  and  had  not  seen  a  look  of  disapproval  on  the 
face  of  either  ;  but  she  knew  that,  after  all,  her  mother's 
opinion  would  be  the  one  that  would  decide  the  case. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  the  morning  after  it  was 
decided  that  Theodora  should  go  to  Scran  ton,  "to-day 
is  Saturday ;  you  have  only  a  little  over  a  week  to  get 
ready  in  ;  so  sit  down  and  write  your  uncle  immediately, 
carry  the  letter  to  the  post-office,  and  call  and  see  if 
Charity  Wygott  can  come  here  next  Monday  and  stay 
the  whole  week." 

"I'll  write  the  letter,  mother,"  said  Theodora,  seat- 
ing herself  at  the  large,  old-fashioned  desk ;  "  but  really, 
—  I  don't  want  to  be  fussy, —  Charity  Wygott  does  very 
well  for  here ;  but  then,  you  know,  Kate  dresses  so  fash- 
ionably, and  has  everything  made  in  the  latest  style.  Do 
you  really  think  she  will  be  able  to  make  my  things  look 
just  as  they  ought?  " 

"  Kate  ?  No,  I  really  don't  think  she'll  have  much  to 
do  with  the  making  of  your  clothes." 

Theodora  laughed.  "No,  of  course  I  don't  mean 
Kate,  I  was  rather  confused,  —  Charity  Wygott." 

"I  don't  suppose,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell, 
"that  Charity  will  make  your  clothes  as  fashionable  as 
Kate's,  and  I  really  should  hope  she  would  not;  but  as 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  17 

she  is  the  only  dress-maker  in  the  village,  I  don't  see  but 
what  you  will  have  to  be  satisfied  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  of 
one  thing,  she  will  do  the  very  best  for  you  that  she 
knows  how,  for  a  kinder-hearted  woman  never  lived,  and 
she  will  feel  as  pleased  to  think  you  are  going  as  if  you 
were  her  own  child." 

"  I  know  she  will,"  replied  Theodora,  biting  the  end 
of  her  pen;  "and  she  certainly  is  one  of  the  best  old 
souls  in  the  world,  if  she  does  murder  the  king's  English, 
and  is  rather  behind  the  times.  But  really,  mother,  I 
don't  see  what  she  is  going  to  work  on  when  we  get  her 
here." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  replied  her  mother,  with  a  rather 
mysterious  air;  "you  write  your  letter,  and  engage 
Charity,  and  I  promise  to  furnish  the  materials  for  your 
wardrobe." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  get  them?"  persisted 
Theodora.  "  I  don't  believe  you  could  find  anything  in 
the  village;  and  besides  you  evidently  don't  mean  to  go 
there  to-day." 

"  You  write  your  letter,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hartwell, 
good-humoredly.  "If  you  don't  answer  it  soon,  your 
Uncle  John  will  think  you  don't  care  to  go,  and  may  in- 
vite some  one  else." 

Theodora  applied  herself  to  her  letter,  and  wrote  away 
in  silence  for  some  minutes,  when  she  laid  down  her  pen 
and  exclaimed,  "There!  he  said  Kate  was  going  to 
write  me  what  I  should  need !  Don't  you  think  I  had 
better  wait  until  I  hear  from  her  before  I  make  any 
preparations  ?  " 

"  And  then  not  have  any  letter  from  her  at  all,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Hartwell ;  "or,  at  best,  not  until  the  last  mo- 
ment. No,  my  dear,  I  have  known  too  many  of  Kate's 
promises  to  end  in  non-fulfilment  to  have  much  faith  in 
them.  Not  but  what  she  is  perfectly  sincere  when  she 


18  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

makes  them,  but  other  things  are  constantly  occurring  to 
drive  them  out  of  her  mind." 

Theodora  wrote  her  letter  and  carried  it  to  the  office. 
By  the  time  she  had  returned,  dinner  was  on  the  table. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  "  what  luck  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  best  in  the  world,"  said  Theodora,  seating 
herself  at  the  table  with  the  others.  "  For  a  perfect  won- 
der Charity  Wygott  isn't  engaged  next  week.  She  had 
kept  the  time  for  herself  to  rest  In,  she  said  ;  but  she  says 
coming  here  is  the  best  rest  she  could  have,  for  it  would 
be  'just  like  going  out  of  the  ruts  to  walk  on  the  grass 
side  of  the  road.'  Wasn't  that  just  like  her?" 

"Exactly,"  replied  the  mother;  "and  I  know  just 
what  she  means  by  it.  She  goes  the  round  of  all  the 
village  houses,  week  after  week,  sees  the  same  people,  and 
hears  the  same  subjects  discussed.  Coming  up  here  is  an 
entire  change  for  her." 

"  So  Charity  is  coming  to  fit  out  Theodora  for  her 
visit,  is  she?  "  said  Mr.  Hartwell.  "  It  is  rather  a  pity, 
Dody,  that  your  Uncle  John  did  not  defer  his  invitation 
until  another  year;  then  the  peach  orchard  would  be  in 
its  prime,  and  I  should  feel  that  I  could  afford  to  fit  you 
out  quite  handsomely  ;  as  it  is,  I  will  give  you  twenty 
dollars  for  little  extra  expenses,  and  your  mother  says 
she  will  see  to  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  father,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I  didn't 
expect  half  as  much ;  twenty  dollars  will  do  a  great  deal 
for  me,  I  know,  because  mother  has  implied  that  she  has 
the  wealth  of  the  Indies  buried  away  somewhere,  and  it's 
to  be  rooted  out  for  my  especial  benefit." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  laughed.  "  Don't  get  your  expecta- 
tions raised  too  high,"  she  said,  "or  you  may  be  dis- 
appointed. However,  I  think,  with  the  twenty  dollars 
for  a  pair  of  new  boots,  gloves,  hat,  etc.,  I  can  make  you 
eut  a  very  respectable  wardrobe." 


» 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  19 

"Twenty  dollars!"  cried  Dick.  "I  should  think 
you  might  get  along,  Dode.  I  know  if  I  had  all  that,  I 
wouldn't  spend  it  on  hats  and  gloves,  and  such  trash. 
I'd  get  a  new  bat  and  ball  that  would  knock  any  you 
ever  saw  to  splitherines." 

"Well,  as  I  don't  know  where  or  what  splitherines 
is,  I'm  not  much  the  wiser,"  replied  Theodora,  passing 
the  plate  for  another  piece  of  chicken,  for  her  anticipated 
journey  had  by  no  means  taken  away  her  good,  country 
appetite;  "but  I'll  promise  you  one  thing,  I'll  send  you 
the  best  bat  and  ball  I  can  find  floating  in  the  water  at 
Scran  ton." 

"  Umph  !  "  exclaimed  Dick,  contemptuously;  "  mighty 
kind,  aint  you  ?  I  really  thought  you  meant  to  send  me 
one." 

"  Well,  I  did  mean  just  what  I  said.  When  I  find  one 
floating  in  the  water  I'll  send  it  to  you.  Meanwhile,  I 
wouldn't  advise  you  to  throw  away  your  old  one,  because 
you  know  it  may  be  some  time  before  the  new  one  gets 
here." 

"Mother,"  asked  Dick,  appearing  to  take  no  notice 
of  Theodora's  disposition  to  tease  him,  "didn't  Mr. 
Sweeton  say  he  was  going  to  the  sea-shore  ?  I  tell  you, 
wouldn't  it  be  just  the  jolliest  go  if  he  should  happen  to 
go  to  Scranton  ?" 

Theodora  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork  with  an  expres- 
sion of  despair.  "  You  don't  really  think,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  that  there  is  any  danger  of  that,  do  you,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hartwell  only  smiled. 

"Danger?"  cried  Dick;  "just  hear  her!  Now, 
Dody,  you  needn't  look  as  if  you  felt  so  badly  about  it. 
We  know  too  much  for  that.  Oh  !  "  clasping  his  hands, 
and  rolling  his  eyes  ecstatically,  "  to  think  of  meandering 
by  the  'sad  sea-waves,'  keeping  company  with  the  lovely 
Sweeton  !  " 


20  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

Theodora  laughed  in  spite  of  herself  at  Dick's  absurd 
manner.  She  turned  to  her  mother  for  help,  but  she  was 
laughing  too.  "  Now.  mother,  I  think  you  let  him  go 
too  far.  He  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  say  such  things,  and 
you  are  encouraging  him  by  laughing  at  him.  I  don't 
think  it's  fair." 

"0  mother,"  cried  Dick,  before  Mrs.  Hartwell  could 
reply,  "just  think  how  enchanting  it  will  be  to  hear  Mr. 
Sweeton's  melodious  voice  mingling  with  the  ocean's 
roar  !  "  and,  excusing  himself  from  the  table,  he  retired 
to  the  entry,  shouting,  "  Cub,  oh,  cub  with  be,  the  boon 
is  beabing." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  right  myself,"  replied  her  mother, 
checking  her  amusement ;  "  but  really,  Theodora,  if  you 
will  tease  Dick,  you  must  expect  him  to  tease  you  back 
again." 

"  But  it's  a  very  different  thing,  the  way  I  tease  him, — 
that's  only  about  things;  he  teases  me  about  persons." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  dryly  remarked  Frank,  who  was  the  quiet 
one  of  the  family.  "  I  thought  he  only  used  the  singular 
number." 

"Well,  singular  number  or  not,"  said  Dora,  "I 
really  think  there  has  been  quite  enough  of  it." 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  Mr.  Hartwell,  rousing  himself 
from  a  long  reverie,  and  withdrawing  from  the  table, 
"I've  something  I  want  to  show  you  that  I  know  you 
will  enjoy  very  much, —  a  new  specimen  of  Lepidoptera  I 
found  this  morning.  Theodora,  I  presume  we  shall  have 
to  excuse  you  from  our  Natural  History  class,  for  the 
rest  of  the  summer. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  think  you  will,  for  next  week  I  shall 
be  occupied  in  turning  myself  into  a  new  specimen.  I've 
been  in  the  chrysalis  state  quite  long  enough,  but  I  can't 
say  what  I  shall  hatch  myself." 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  21 

"An  Atticus  .Luna,  I  rather  think,"  laughed  her 
father. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not  anything  half  so  green,"  answered 
Theodora,  as  her  father  took  his  hat  and  left  the  house. 

"Now,  Theodora,"  said  her  mother,  "you  and  I  will 
go  upstairs  and  'root  out'  that  '  wealth  of  the  Indies  '  you 
were  talking  about;  I  have  done  all  the  mending,  so  we 
have  the  whole  afternoon  before  us  to  get  ready  for 
Charity  Wygott,  Monday  morning." 

Theodora  sprang  up,  all  eagerness  to  see  what  her 
mother  could  have  in  store  for  her,  but  suddenly  she 
stopped  on  her  way  to  the  stairs.  "  Mother,"  she  said, 
as  Mrs.  Hartwell  came  up  behind  her,  "I  think  I  have 
been  very  selfish ;  here  I:ve  been  so  perfectly  delighted 
and  carried  away  with  the  idea  of  going  to  Scranton,  that 
it  actually  has  never  occurred  to  me,  that  when  I  am  gone 
all  my  part  of  the  work  will  come  on  you  ;  it  has  com- 
menced this  very  day,  by  your  doing  all  the  mending 
instead  of  half." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  putting  her 
arm  round  Theodora  as  they  walked  upstairs  together 
more  like  sisters  than  mother  and  daughter,  "do  you 
think  I  would  keep  you  at  home  just  for  that  ?  Indeed, 
I  am  only  too  thankful  that  you  have  had  such  an  ex- 
cellent opportunity  to  go  out  and  see  something  of  the 
world.  Your  life  here  is  about  the  same  from  one  year 
to  another,  and  although  I  think  it  is  a  very  bright, 
happy  life,  and  a  very  useful  one  too,  dear,  I  think  a 
change  is  always  good  for  people.  I  am  not  afraid  that 
one  summer  of  gayety  will  spoil  you  for  your  quiet  home." 

"  No,  motherdy,  I  don't  think  it  will ;  but  all  you  have 
said  only  proves  the  more  decisively  that  it  is  selfish  in 
me  to  go.  If  my  life  is  just  the  same  from  year  to  year, 
what  is  yours,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  A  very  quiet,   very  happy  one,  I   assure  you.     I 


22  THE    I1ARTWELL    FAHM. 

don't  think  I  would  exchange  it  now  for  any  other ;  but  I 
don't  forget  that  it  would  not  always  have  suited  me.  I 
was  young  once  myself,  and  had  my  '  good  times '  with 
the  others  of  my  age ;  now  I  want  you  to  have  yours." 

"You're  the  dearest  and  the  most  unselfish  mother  in 
the  world,"  enthusiastically  exclaimed  Theodora,  as  they 
reached  the  upper  hall ;  "but  still  you  don't  set  my  mind 
quite  at  rest.  Suppose  you  should  have  one  of  your  old 
attacks?" 

"  Now,  Dody.  don't  worry  about  that.  I  have  not  had 
one  for  over  a  year,  and  may  never  have  another.  I  have 
not  felt  so  well  in  years  as  I  have  this  summer ;  so  you 
need  not  have  any  anxiety  on  that  score." 

"  But  promise  me  this,"  persisted  Dora,  "that  if  you 
find  you  are  getting  tired,  or  don't  feel  well,  you  will 
send  for  me.  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  came 
home  and  found  you  all  worn  out,  while  I  had  done  noth- 
ing but  enjoy  myself  all  summer." 

"  I  promise,  dear,  for  the  sake  of  setting  your  mind  at 
rest.  Now  come  into  the  red  room  and  see  what  I  have 
for  you." 

The  "  red  room/'  as  it  had  always  been  called,  was  a 
chamber,  never  used  except,  on  the  now  rare  occasion, 
when  a  visitor  came  to  Hartwell  Farm.  It  was  very  large, 
furnished  with  solid  mahogany,  that  had  stood  there  ever 
since  the  days  of  Theodora's  great-grandfather.  Mrs. 
Hartwell  pulled  up  one  of  the  shades,  drew  back 
the  heavy  curtain,  and  the  afternoon's  sun  flooded  the 
room  with  light,  falling  upon  the  immense  high-post  bed- 
stead with  its  canopy  curtain  of  red  brocade,  the  high- 
backed  chairs,  and  great  chest  of  drawers  which  Mrs. 
Hartwell  immediately  proceeded  to  unlock. 

Theodora  looked  on  in  surprise ;  she  could  not  remem- 
ber ever  having  seen  these  drawers  open  in  her  life,  and 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  28 

•wondered  what  they  could  contain  that  would  prove  a 
very  gieat  addition  to  her  wardrobe. 

Mrs.  Hartwell  looked  up  with  an  amused  smile  as  she 
opened  the  bottom  drawer,  arid  Theodora  came  arid  stood 
beside  her. 

"Why,  mother!''  said  Theodora,  "what  can  you 
have  in  there  that  I  want?  Something  that  belonged  to 
Grandmother  Temple?  I  don't  think  those  old  brocades 
will  be  very  suitable  for  me." 

"The  old  brocades  are  not  in  here."  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
well,  as  she  took  out  something  done  up  carefully  in  blue 
cambric;  "  don't  you  be  afraid  of  my  dressing  you  too 
old.  Let  me  see.  You  wanted  the  '  wealth  of  the  Indies  ; ' 
well,  take  that,  and  you'll  have  some  of  it  certainly." 

"Mother,  what  can  you  mean?"  cried  Theodora,  on 
tiptoe  with  expectation.  "  Shall  I  open  this  ?  " 

"No,  not  yet,"  replied  her  mother,  taking  out  two 
more  packages  done  up  like  the  first ;  "  wait  until  I  have 
shut  up  the  room ;  then  we  will  go  into  your  room  and 
undo  all  three." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  laid  the  two  bundles  across  Theodora's 
arms,  locked  the  drawer,  pulled  down  the  curtains,  and 
followed  her  daughter,  who  had  by  this  time  reached  her 
own  chamber  and  deposited  her  treasures  on  the  bed. 

"  Now  which  shall  I  open  first?  "  she  asked.  "I  want 
to  begin  with  the  one  that's  the  least  elegant." 

"  Well,  then,  take  this,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  handing 
her  the  smallest  bundle ;  "  but  don't  make  up  your  mind 
for  anything  elegant,  because  that  is  only  pretty." 

"  And  the  others  are  elegant,"  said  Theodora,  as  sho 
took  from  the  cambric  and  discovered  a  barege  dress, 
white  ground  covered  with  small  embroidered  figures  of 
scarlet  and  black,  old-fashioned  in  make,  but  otherwise 
as  fresh-looking  as  if  it  had  just  come  out  of  the  store. 
"  Isn't  it  lovely  ?  "  exclaimed  Theodora.  "  Why,  mother, 


24  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

the  material  doesn't  look  a  bit  old-timey.  Where  did  it 
come  from  ?  ' ' 

"  I  had  it  when  you  were  a  little  tot ;  but  I  never  wore 
it  many  times,  for  you  did  not  like  to  see  me  in  anything 
red.  When  our  money  troubles  began  I  laid  it  away,  think- 
ing that  some  time  it  might  do  for  you.  I  knew  it  would 
never  look  old-fashioned,  and  I  depend  upon  Charity 
Wygott's  skill  to  cut  it  over  so  that  it  will  make  you  a 
very  nice  dress." 

"  Of  course  it  will,"  said  Theodora.  "  It's  just  the 
thing  for  the  beach.  Now  let  me  see  what  I  shall  have : 
there's  my  white  pique  I  had  last  summer, — I'm  so 
thankful  I  had  an  overskirt,  —  that's  just  as  good  as  new  ; 
my  black  and  white  calico  I  made  this  spring,  and  that 
purple  and  white  one,  that  never  will  wear  out,  with  this 
barege  for  afternoons.  I  shall  be  very  well  off,  to  say 
nothing  of  those  other  bundles." 

"When  I  used  to  go  to  the  beach,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
well,  "  everybody  used  to  have  one  dress  expressly  for 
picnics,  and  climbing  round  generally,  something  woollen 
but  not  very  thick,  made  with  a  loose  waist  and  short 
skirt,  and  I  remember  I  never  enjoyed  any  of  my  clothes 
more  than  I  did  my  romping  suit;  no,  not  even  the 
dresses  I  wore  to  the  '  hops.'  ' 

"  Oh,  the  hops  !  "  cried  Theodora,  with  a  rather  doubt- 
ful expression  of  countenance.  "  I  forgot  all  about  them. 
What  shall  I  do  for  dresses  ?  Do  you  suppose  this  barege 
will  do?  I  shall  want  it  very  long." 

While  Theodora  was  speaking,  she  was  undoing  cne 
of  the  other  bundles  ;  as  she  took  out  the  last  pin,  the 
cambric  fell  off  of  itself  and  down  on  the  floor  rolled  a 
light  blue  silk.  Theodora  held  up  her  hand  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  A  blue  silk,  and  for  me  !  My  cup  of  happiness  is 
just  full  to  the  brim.  Whenever  I  have  dared  to  dream 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  25 

of  myself  arrayed  in  all  the  gorgeousness  of  a  full-blown 
young  woman,  I  have  always  beheld  myself  in  a  light 
blue  silk,  with  a  tremendous  train ;  and  now  my  dream  is 
to  be  realized  !  Only  think  what  a  wardrobe  I  shall  have, 
and  not  go  out  of  the  house  to  get  it !  Mother,  you're  a 
perfect  treasure  !" 

"But,  the  'wealth  of  the  Indies,'  Theodora,  —  you 
haven't  come  to  that." 

"Sure  enough,"  replied  Theodora;  "but  I  don't 
thoroughly  realize  the  blue  silk  yet." 

The  last  bundle  was  very  quickly  divested  of  its  cover, 
and  Theodora  shook  out  of  its  folds  an  embroidered 
white  muslin,  once  pure  as  the  driven  snow,  but  now 
yellow  with  having  lain  for  years  in  the  old  chest  of 
drawers.  Theodora  held  it  up  with  such  a  comical  ex- 
pression of  disappointment  that  her  mother  burst  into  a 
laugh,  saying,  "  You  don't  think  much  of  the  '  wealth  of 
the  Indies,'  Theodora?" 

"No,  mother,  I  confess  I  don't,"  answered  Theodora, 
as  she  turned  the  dress  over  arid  over,  and  held  up  to 
herself  the  funny,  old-fashioned  shirred  waist.  "I  sup- 
pose I  can't  appreciate  it;  is  it  really  handsome?  " 

"Just  wait  until  Charity  Wygott  sees  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Hartwell.  "I  can  seem  to  see  her  eyes  snap.  Why, 
you  couldn't  buy  such  a  dress  now  for  love  or  money. 
It  was  brought  over  in  one  of  your  Grandfather  Temple's 
ships  expressly  for  your  grandmother  ;  she  gave  it  to  me 
when  I  grew  up,  and  I  wore  it  when  I  was  bridesmaid 
at  your  Uncle  John's  wedding.  Everybody  thought  it 
was  exquisite.  See.  it  is  as  delicate  as  tarlatan,  and 
look  at  the  embroidery  !  " 

"  Isn't  it  rather  window-curtainy  ?"  asked  Theodora, 
doubtfully. 

"Window-curtainy!"  laughed  her  mother;  "indeed 
it  isn't.  If  I  had  anything  else  that  would  be  half  as 


26  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

pretty  for  you,  you  shouldn't  have  it  just  for  your  want 
of  appreciation.  But  I  know  Charity's  ingenuity  will 
make  it  over  in  the  present  fashion ;  you  see  it  is  very 
full,  and  has  three  deep  flounces  and  a  hem." 

':I  suppose  it  is  beautiful,  mother;  but  will  it  ever 
come  white?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  it  will.  I  shall  have  it  done  up, 
after  it  is  made.  Come,  now,  we  have  a  good  after- 
noon's work  before  us  to  rip  these  up ;  you  can  take  the 
barege  and  silk,  and  I'll  manage  the  poor,  offending  mus- 
lin." 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  27 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  VANITAS,   VANITAS,    OMNIS    EST    V ANITAS." 

"HERE  I  be,  Mrs.  Hartwell,"  cried  the  cheery  voice 
of  Charity  Wygott,  as  she  made  her  appearance  early 
Monday  morning,  "  bag  and  baggage ;  but  my  trunk 
•won't  take  up  much  room  ;  it  aint  a  reg'lar  Saratogy." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Charity,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell, 
coming  forward  and  greeting  Charity  with  as  much  cor- 
diality as  if  she  had  been  a  distinguished  guest. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Theodora,  dancing  into  the  hall  ; 
"  I  don't  know  as  I  was  ever  more  delighted  to  see 
any  one  in  my  life." 

"Oh  !  I  dare  say,"  said  Charity,  good-naturedly,  as 
she  untied  her  bonnet-strings.  "  I  haven't  the  least 
doubt  of  it;  it's  strange  how  pleased  the  young  girls 
always  are  to  see  me.  Quite  remarkable,  aint  it,  Mrs. 
Hartwell?" 

"  Oh,  very  !  "  laughingly  replied  Mrs.  Hartwell ; 
"but  come,  Charity,  I  thought  you  would  excuse  me 
if  I  did  not  wait  breakfast  for  you,  as  it  is  washing-day  ; 
but  I  have  saved  some,  nice  and  hot." 

"Lord  bless  you,  ma'am!"  exclaimed  Charity,  "I 
had  mine  'fore  I  came.  Just  tell  me  where  I  am  to  work, 
and  I  can  kind  o'  get  things  planned,  by  the  time  you 
are  ready  to  come  upstairs. 

"  But  do  sit  down  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,"  pressed 
Mrs.  Hartwell;  "you've  had  a  long  walk." 

"Pshaw!   I  don't  think  no  more  o'  that  walk   than 


28  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

just  nothin'  at  all,"  replied  Charity,  as  she  threw  her 
shawl  and  bonnet  over  her  arm.  "  Just  tell  me  where 
I'm  to  go,  and  that's  all  I  ask." 

"Well,  if  you  persist,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  "  Theo- 
dora will  show  you  your  room.  We  shall  sew  in  the  north 
room,  where  it  will  be  cool  and  comfortable  all  day  long." 

"  Oh,  I'll  show  you,"  said  Theodora,  taking  up  Char- 
ity's carpet-bag.  "You  are  to  have  the  room  next  to 
mine,  and  if  you  snore  or  have  the  nightmare,  or  any- 
thing else  horrible,  you  may  expect  to  see  me  pouncing 
in  on  you ;  so  don't  be  frightened  !  " 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  said  Charity,  as  she  followed 
Theodora  upstairs;  "I  haven't  lived  in  the  woods  all 
my  life  to  be  scared  at  an  owl." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I'm  an  owl?  "  said 
Theodora. 

"  I  don't  make  no  insinuations,"  said  Charity  ;  "  but 
owls  is  about  the  only  creatures  I  know  of  in  these  parts 
that  prowls  round  nights,  unless  it's  bats." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Theodora,  as  she  entered  the 
room  which  Charity  was  to  occupy,  '•'•  if  I  prove  a  screech- 
owl  don't  you  make  any  complaints.  Now,  if  you  haven't 
any  prinking  to  do,  I'll  take  you  into  the  work-room." 

"  Really  now,  how  do  I  look?  "  asked  Miss  Charity, 
with  a  perfectly  sober  face  ;  "  how's  my  crimps,  and  them 
curls  behind?  I  hope  they  aint  all  out." 

Now  Charity  Wygott's  hair  was  brushed  as  smooth 
as  satin,  and  drawn  back  into  a  little  doughnut  behind, 
without  even  the  suggestion  of  a  stray  hair  ;  but  Theo- 
dora assured  her  that  her  crimps  were  lovely,  and  very 
becoming,  and  the  curls  so  light  and  airy  she  could  hardly 
see  them. 

"  Well,  that's  just  the  way  I  intended  they  should 
look,"  replied  Charity,  with  an  air  of  satisfaction ;  "  now, 
if  you  will  lead  the  way,  I'm  ready  for  work.' 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  29 

"  I  hope  you've  made  up  your  mind,  Charity."  said 
Theodora,  as  she  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  handle  of 
the  work-room  door,  "  that  it's  only  old  things  you've 
got  to  work  on,  —  dresses  of  mother's  to  make  over  for  me, 
—  for  I  haven't  bought  a  thing ;  so  I  hope  you  are  feel- 
ing particularly  brilliant  and  ingenious." 

"Never  felt  more  so  in  my  life,"  replied  Charity,  as 
she  took  off  her  spectacles  and  rubbed  them  preparatory 
to  examining  whatever  might  be  laid  before  her.  "  I'm 
just  brimful  of  inventions." 

"  That  suits  me  exactly,"  said  Theodora,  "for  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  wish  to  be  gotten  up  in  the  very 
best  style.  By  that  I  don't  mean  the  very  tip-top  of 
the  fashion.  I've  no  desire  to  make  myself  ridiculous; 
but  I've  lived  off  here  in  the  country  all  my  life,  and 
you  can  testify  that  I've  always  dressed  as  plain  as  a 
pipe-stem ;  now  I'm  going  to  bloom  out !  Just  think, 
Charity  Wygott,  I'm  nineteen  years  old !  nineteen,  and 
I've  never  had  a  long  dress  !  " 

"Well,  you  ought  to  have  one  now,  to  be  sure,"  an- 
swered Charity.  "  There's  a  time  and  a  place  for  every- 
thing ;  and  I  will  say  that  I've  always  held  you  up  as  a 
model  to  all  the  girls  in  the  village,  regardin'  dress.  I 
can't  say  they've  always  followed  your  example;  but 
that's  neither  here  nor  there.  Your  clothes  have  always 
seemed  appropriate  for  a  quiet  town  like  this.  Now  you're 
going  to  a  more  stirrin'  place,  and  of  course  want  things 
a  little  more  genteel,  and  I  for  one  am  downright  glad 
you're  going.  '  Every  dog  must  have  its  day,'  you 
know." 

"  Charity  Wygott,  those  are  noble  sentiments,  and  I 
honor  you  for  entertaining  them,"  said  Theodora,  "I 
always  did  think  your  judgment  was  pretty  good.  Now 
what  is  your  opinion  of  that  ?  "  and  Theodora  held  up 
the  barege. 


30  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

"  As  pretty  a  barege  as  ever  I  see  !  Now  where  under 
the  canopy  did  your  ma  raise  that  ?  It  aint  a  bit  old- 
fashioned  looking,  but  I  dare  say  she's  had  it  these  ages." 

"  And  so  she  has,"  replied  Theodora ;  "  she  laid  it  away 
years  ago,  thinking  that  I  might  like  it  some  time  or  other, 
and  now  it  comes  in  just  right.  Is  there  enough  to  make 
me  an  over-skirt?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Charity,  running  the  breadths  over 
with  her  eye,  as  an  experienced  surveyor  would  a  strange 
piece  of  land;  "is  it  to  be  short  or  long?  Short;  well 
then,  I  can  do  it  by  piecing,  and  them  ruffles  will  be  just 
the  very  thing  to  trim  it  with.  It  will  make  a  sweet 
dress." 

''That's  for  afternoons,  croquet,  etc.,  you  know,"  said 
Theodora;  "  but  this  is  what  I  expect  to  shine  in,"  and 
she  pulled  off  the  cambric  she  had  previously  thrown  over 
the  blue  silk. 

"  If  ever  I  see  a  heavenly  blue,  there  it  is  !  "  exclaimed 
Charity,  "and  none  o'  your  sleazy,  rowey  stuffs  either," 
—  running  it  through  her  fingers,  —  "  thick  and  soft ; 
it's  just  as  handsome  as  it  can  be  ;  you  couldn't  find  any- 
thing more  prettier  for  you  if  you'd  ransacked  Boston. 
Come,  Theodora,  get  out  your  linin's,  I'm  just  achin' 
to  go  to  work." 

"  I've  got  one  more,  Charity,  that  I  suppose  goes  ahead 
of  these,  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  so. 
But  here  comes  mother,  she  wants  to  show  it  to  you,  I 
know." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  "  for  I  know 
you  can  appreciate  it,  which  is  more  than  I  can  say  of 
Theodora.  There,  Charity,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Charity  took  off  her  spectacles,  wiped  them  with  her 
handkerchief,  put  them  on  again  very  deliberately,  took 
one  of  the  flounces  in  her  hands,  looked  at  it  attentively, 
then  peering  over  her  glasses  at  Mrs.  Hartwell  remarked, 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  31 

<J  A  real  Ingy  and  no  mistake  !     Theodora  Hartwell,  you 
are  lucky  !  " 

"There,  Theodora!  "  exclaimed  her  mother;  "what 
did  I  tell  you?  I  knew  Charity  would  admire  it  the 
minute  she  saw  it." 

"  And  I  expected  she  would  too,"  replied  Theodora, 
•who  was  seated  on  the  floor  holding  up  one  of  the  breadths 
of  the  blue  silk  so  that  the  light  should  strike  it,  and  ey- 
ing it  witti  evident  satisfaction,  "  because  you  said  it  was 
something  handsome,  but  I  much  prefer  this;  this  suits 
me  exactly." 

"  And  it  ought  to,"  said  Charity,  "  for  it's  as  handsome 
as  it  can  be ;  but  then  you  know  an  Ingy's  an  Ingy,  and 
can't  be  had  for  the  askin'.  But  where  shall  I  begin? 
Time's  flyin'." 

"  The  barege."  said  Theodora.  "  I  like  to  begin  at  the 
little  end  always,  and  come  out  at  the  big." 

"  And  a  good  rule  too,"  said  Charity,  as  she  picked 
up  the  breadths  and  snipped  away  at  them  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  been  rather  fearful  to  behold  if  it  had  not 
been  for  her  evident  confidence  in  the  result.  "Yes,  a 
good  rule,"  she  repeated,  nodding  her  head  sagely.  "I've 
seen  too  many  people  go  in  at  the  big  end  to  believe  in 
that  practice ;  they  get  along  pretty  well  till  they  get 
to  the  middle  of  the  horn,  but  they  find  it  pretty  close 
quarters  even  then,  and  I  tell  you  they  get  some  pretty 
tight  squeezin'  afore  they  come  out.  There,  Theodora, 
you  jest  piece  that  for  me,  please,  and  by  the  time 
you  get  it  done  I'll  have  these  gores  pinned  together,  so 
that  you'll  have  nothin'  to  do  but  jest  run  'em  up. 
Now  how'  11  you  have  your  over-skirt  ?  That  one  in  the  first 
plate  is  real  pretty.I  think;  and  it  don't  take  so  much 
material,  you  see,  because  it  aint  got  a  front  breadth, 
and  you  know  we've  got  to  be  economical." 

"I  like  that  very  much  indeed,"  said  Theodora,  turn- 


82  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

ing  over  the  leaves  of  the  fashion-book;  "it's  very 
stylish,  and  yet  it  isn't  all  ruffles  and  puffs,  — yes,  I'll 
have  that." 

"Now  that's  all  planned,  and  I'm  to  go  straight 
ahead  with  it ;  if  there's  anything  I  do  like,  it's  plain 
sailing.  It  was  just  like  your  ma  to  have  all  these 
things  ripped  up  and  ironed  out  before  I  came.  I  do 
wish  some  folks  I  work  for  would  take  pattern  by  her. 
I'll  go  to  a  house,  say,  to  work  two  days  ;  the  bed's  all 
piled  up  with  dresses  to  be  made  over ;  not  a  stitch 
ripped.  Of  course,  I  can't  fairly  get  started  to  work 
much  before  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  get  flurried  and 
flustered  because  every  one  of  the  girls  wants  her  dress 
done  first ;  and,  consequently,  nothing  gets  finished.  I 
know  well  enough  when  they  give  me  my  money  they 
don't  think  I've  earned  it,  and  /know  I  have  ten  times 
over  ;  still  there  aint  no  satisfaction  in  it.  I  declare, 
it's  enough  to  wear  the  flesh  off  one's  bones.  No  wonder 
ray  face  looks  as  sharp  as  a  barber's  razor." 

"It  is  hard,  Charity,"  said  Mrs.  Hartwell,  in  a  tone 
of  real  sympathy,  "and  I  don't  see  how  people  can  be 
so  inconsiderate." 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  know  any  better,"  said  Charity. 
as  she  twitched  her  thread  in  and  out;  "and  it  aint 
likely  they  think  I  mind  it,  that  is,  the  most  of  'em, 
though  some  of  'em  I  really  do  think  take  a  kind  o' 
malicious  pleasure  in  trying  my  patience.  But  them's  the 
ones  that  don't  make  much  by  it.  Folks  that  won't  spare 
my  feelin's,  why,  they  mustn't  expect  that  I  shall  put 
myself  out  much  to  spare  theirs  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  that 
aint  livin'  up  to  the  golden  rule,  now,  is  it?  However, 
we  all  of  us  find  it  easier  to  preach  than  to  practise. 
Theodora,  how  long  do  you  want  your  blue  silk?  " 

"Oh,  a  train,  of  course,"  answered  Theodora.  "Just 
43  long  as  you  can  get  it  out." 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  33 

"Well,  now,  you  just  stand  up,  if  you  please,"  said 
Charity.  "I've  pieced  these  two  breadths  together,  and 
I'll  hold  'em  up  to  you  before  I  cut  'em.  There,  Mrs. 
Ilartwell,  what  do  you  say  to  that?  That's  sixty  inches, 
—  a  very  pretty  length;  but  perhaps  Theodora'd  pre- 
fer sixty-two." 

"  That's  long  enough,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
well.  "  Surely,  Theodora,  you  wouldn't  have  it  any 
longer." 

"Indeed  I  would,  mamma,"  said  Theodora,  almost 
twisting  her  neck  off  in  her  endeavor  to  see  behind  her. 
"  You  know  this  is  my  party  dress,  and,  of  course,  I  want 
it  in  the  fashion.  Make  it  sixty-two,  Charity  ;  make  it 
sixty-two." 

"  Well,  we'll  say  sixty,  and  if  my  fingers  slip  a  little, 
why,  your  ma  won't  say  nothing  ;  two  or  three  inches 
one  way  or  the  other  won't  make  much  difference. 
There' 11  be  enough  of  that  Ingy  muslin  to  put  a  flounce 
on  the  bottom  of  it,  and  on  the  over-skirt  besides,  and  the 
over-skirt  will  do  for  that,  and  this  too,  and  be  just  the 
handsomest  thing  you  could  have  to  wear  with  it.  I 
once  heard  a  lady  say  that  '  black  silk  aprons  was  like 
charity, —  they  covered  a  multitude  of  sins  ;'  but  I  think 
over-skirts  has  taken  the  shine  right  out  of  'em." 

"  Charity,"  said  Theodora,  after  she  had  been  sewing 
for  some  time  in  silence,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  con- 
science is  rather  pricking  me ;  I've  got  a  confession  to 
make.  When  mother  suggested  that  I  should  have  you 
for  a  week  to  get  me  ready  for  Scranton,  I  rather  de- 
murred, because  —  -now  prepare  yourself,  Charity — I 
was  afraid  you  wouldn't  make  my  things  quite  as  stylish 
as  I  wanted  them  ;  not  give-  them  such  an  air,  you  know. 
But  I  take  it  all  back  now,  for  I  don't  see  but  what  lam 
going  to  be  turned  out  in  the  very  tip  of  the  mode  ;  and, 
certainly,  no  fashionable  dress-maker  would  have  turned 


34  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

and  gored,  and  pieced  and  planned,  as  you  have.  There ! 
now  my  mind  is  easier !  I  hope  you're  not  offended, 
Charity?" 

"  Offended  !  "  exclaimed  Charity,  looking  at  Theodora 
over  the  tops  of  her  glasses,  and  pointing  her  remarks 
with  a  snap  of  her  great  shears.  "Offended!  When 
you  see  the  sun  rise  in  the  west  and  set  in  the  east ; 
when  two  Sundays  come  together,  and  we  have  a  snow- 
storm fourth  o'  July,  then  you'll  see  Charity  Wiggott 
offended  at  such  straightforward  talk  as  that." 

The  business  of  dress-making  progressed  rapidly  and 
successfully,  and  Theodora  was  all  ready  for  her  journey 
when  her  Uncle  John  arrived  to  escort  her  to  Scranton, 
bringing  with  him  a  little  note  from  his  daughter  Kate, 
profusely  underlined,  in  which  she  said  she  was  "dread- 
fully sorry  she  hadn't  written  before,  but  she  had  so 
many  things  to  think  of  before  going  away  for  the  sum- 
mer, that  she  entirely  forgot  it ;  but  she  knew  Theodora 
would  excuse  her,  and  they'd  have  a  delightful  time 
when  they  got  to  Scranton."  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Theo- 
dora Hartwell  started  on  her  journey  in  the  best  possible 
spirits.  Living,  as  she  had  from  early  childhood,  in  the 
country  the  customs  and  manners  of  fashionable  society 
were  as  unknown  to  her  as  if  she  had  been  nine  instead 
of  nineteen.  True,  she,  of  course,  had  some  faint  idea 
of  what  was  going  on  there,  from  the  letters  of  her  Cousin 
Kate,  who  was  three  years  older  than  herself;  but  these 
came  at  rare  intervals,  and  she  had  always  been  too 
happy  in  her  country  home  to  long  for  the  scenes  which 
they  depicted.  But  now,  when  she  found  she  was 
actually  going  to  taste  of  the  sweets  of  a  gayer  life,  she 
looked  forward  to  the  prospect  before  her  with  the  delight 
of  a  child  who  is  naturally  pleased  with  anything  which 
has  about  it  the  charms  of  novelty. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  85 


CHAPTER  V. 

AT  SCRANTON. 

"SCBANTON,  July  18,  187-. 

"DEAR  MOTHKR:  —  Of  course,  motherdy,  the  first  epistle  shall 
be  to  you,  but  all  the  rest  of  the  family  are  welcome  to  any  part,  or 
all  of  it,  if  they  wish.  Here  I  am  at  Scranton !  It  is  perfectly 
lovely.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  describe  it  to  you,  but  I  remember 
you  have  been  here  yourself,  and  although  there  have  been  a  great 
many  changes  in  the  way  of  cottages,  hotels,  etc.,  since  you  were 
here,  the  beach  and  rocks,  and  all  the  natural  features  that  would 
most  interest  you,  must  be  the  same. 

"  Uncle  Jack's  cottage  is  lovely,  and  Kate  has  no  care  at  all,  for 
Mrs.  Brown,  the  house-keeper,  is  a  delightful  person,  knows  how 
and  when  to  do  everything,  entertains  every  one  whom  Kate  does 
not  care  to  see,  and  leaves  her  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  herself, 
which  she  knows  how  to  do  to  perfection.  All  the  houses  here  are 
called  cottages ;  but  they  don't  look  much  like  my  idea  of  the  '  love 
in  a  cottage  '  style,  certainly.  Uncle  Jack's  is  called  '  The  Nest.' 
He  gave  it  that  name  because  it  is  the  smallest  house  here,  and  is 
entirely  covered  with  vines.  I  think  it  is  the  prettiest,  because  the 
most  picturesque  place  here.  The  grounds  are  not  extensive,  but 
are  kept  in  perfect  order.  On  the  right  of  the  cottage  is  a  croquet- 
ground,  and  the  land  at  the  left  is  laid  out  with  flower-beds,  while 
in  the  rear  is  a  miniature  grove ;  altogether  I  think  it  is  lovely. 

"  The  house  next  this  on  the  right  is  only  just  finished,  so  of 
course  the  place  has  rather  a  new  look,  but  it  promises  to  be  the 
finest  one  here ;  it  is  called  Rockhaven.  Dr.  Drayton  is  the  owner; 
he  married  a  Miss  Berkley  of  Boston ;  she  used  to  be  a  great  belle. 
Kate  used  to  know  her  quite  well,  but  has  not  seen  her  since  her 
marriage,  as  she  went  abroad  immediately  after,  and  only  came  back 
this  spring.  Every  one  says  she  is  beautiful,  and,  as  Kate  is  going 
to  call  on  her  directly,  I  hope  I  shall  get  acquainted  with  her.  Mr. 
John  Simperton  owns  the  place  adjoining  this  on  the  left.  It  is 
very  large,  but  not  pretty ;  for  although  Mr.  Simperton  has  more 
money  than  he  can  spend,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  a  taste  for  the 
beautiful.  The  house  is  expensive  and  solid-looking,  but  there  are 
no  flowers,  or  vines,  or  anything  about  it  to  make  it  look  summerish. 
I  believe  there  are  two  daughters,  and  only  one  son.  So  much  for 


36  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


our  immediate  neighbors.     As  I  have  only  been  here  one  night  I 
can't  give  you  much  of  an  idea  of  the  rest  of  the- population. 

"I  went  shopping witli  Kate  the  day  I  was  in  Boston,  and  bought 
me  a  sailor  hat.  I  couldn't  afford  any  of  the  fancy  shapes,  because 
they  are  so  expensive,  in  the  first  place,  and  then  they  have  to  be 
trimmed  with  feathers  and  flowers,  and  all  sorts  of  things,  which  cost 
a  fortune;  but  my  sailor  just  has  a  black  velvet  band  on  it  with 
long  ends  behind,  and  a  lovely  little  feather  arrangement  which 
sticks  up  on  one  side,  and  makes  it  very  jaunty.  Kate  gave  it  to 
me;  it  came  off  of  her  last  winter's  bonnet.  They  have  a  laundress 
here,  so  my  mind  is  at  rest  on  the  washing  question.  Kate  is  just 
calling  me  to  go  down  to  the  beach  and  see  them  bathe ;  we  are  not 
going  in  to-day,  as  I  want  to  have  the  fun  of  watching  the  others. 
I  presume  father  will  be  very  much  horrified  at  the  shallowness  of 
this  letter,  but  if  I  get  into  deeper  water  I'll  write  him.  Tell  Dick, 
if  I  see  anything  of  that  bat  I  mentioned,  I'll  send  it  by  express. 

"  Love  to  every  one,  not  forgetting  Sarah  and  Joe,  and  your  own 
dear  self. 

"  From  your  ever  affectionate  daughter, 

"  THEODORA." 


"Come,  come,  Theodora,"  called  Kate  Temple; 
"finish  that  letter.  Father's  going  to  drive  to  the  office, 
and  he'll  leave  us  at  the  beach.  The  bathers  must  have 
all  gone  down  by  this  time." 

"I'm  all  ready,"  answered  Theodora.  "  Oh,  what 
magnificent  horses,  Uncle  Jack  !  May  I  sit  on  the  front 
seat  with  you  and  drive?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  child;  glad  to  have  you,"  replied  Mr. 
Temple.  "  In  with  you." 

"Papa,"  said  Kate,  "there's  Smythe  Simperton  com- 
ing down  his  avenue;  please  stop  and  take  him  in.  Of 
course  he's  on  his  way  to  the  beach.  A  good  chance  for 
you  to  captivate  him,  Theodora ;  he's  a  tremendous  catch, 
and  it's  quite  the  thing  to  know  him." 

"  Captivate  him  !  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  in  a  tone  of 
contempt.  "  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  go  to  work." 

"  Oh,  you'll  learn  all  the  airs  and  graces  fast  enough," 
said  Mr.  Temple;  "trust  any  girl  for  that;  but  I  don't 
much  believe  you  or  any  one  else  will  ever  captivate 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  37 

Smytlie  Simperton  ;  he  is  altogether  too  much  captivated 
with  himself  to  admire  any  one  else.  Look  at  liim  now, 
Theodora.  Isnrt  he  a  fine  specimen  of  manly  beauty? 
Doesn't  he  look  as  if  he'd  set  the  river  a-fire?  Con- 
ceited little  puppy  !  " 

"  0  papa  !  "  whispered  Kate ;  "I'm  afraid  he'll  hear 
you." 

The  gentleman  who  was  the  subject  of  these  remarks 
was  walking  leisurely  down  the  avenue  of  his  father's 
residence,  one  thumb  stuck  in  his  pantaloons'  pocket,  the 
other  twirling  a  dainty  cane,  which  looked  like  a  child's 
plaything.  He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fash- 
ion, but  with  a  studied  carelessness  that  could  hardly 
escape  the  eye  of  the  most  casual  observer.  A  black  vel- 
vet coat ;  white  pants  and  vest ;  blue  and  white  striped 
shirt;  blue  silk  necktie,  tied  in  a  loose  knot;  a  straw 
hat,  around  which  was  twisted  a  blue  veil ;  and  a  button- 
hole bouquet  of  blue  flowers,  made  up  the  sea-side  neglige 
of  this  individual,  who,  in  kitchen  parlance,  might  be 
styled  a  "pretty  man."  Yes;  that  is  just  the  name  for 
him.  No  other  expression  could  so  well  describe  those 
meaningless  features ;  that  fair  complexion  and  rosy 
cheeks,  which,  it  was  whispered,  were  never  allowed  to 
feel  the  touch  of  cold  water ;  that  mustache,  waxed  to 
such  an  extent  that  a  cambric  needle  would  be  coarse  in 
comparison ;  those  soft,  curly  locks ;  and  those  delicate 
white  hands,  which,  even  at  that  early  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  at  a  place  where  such  conventionalities  as  gloves 
were  quite  disregarded,  were  encased  in  most  exquisitely 
fitting  "Alexanders." 

As  Mr.  Temple  drew  up  his  horses  at  the  gate,  Mr. 
Simperton  slightly  quickened  his  steps,  and,  raising  his 
hat,  said  with  a  drawl,  which  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
imitate :  — 

"  G^od-morning,  Mr.  Temple.     Miss  Temple,  how  do 


38  THE    HARTWELL   FAKM. 

you  do  ?  I  am  delighted  to  see  you ;  I  really  am  de- 
lighted, it's  so  nice  to  meet  one's  friends  again,  you 
know." 

"  Charming,  isn't  it?"  replied  Kate;  "particularly 
after  such  a  long  separation.  Mr.  Simperton,  I  wish  to 
introduce  you  to  my  cousin ;  Mr.  Simperton,  Miss  Hart- 
well." 

Mr.  Simperton  lifted  his  hat  languidly,  then  put  up 
his  eye-glass,  and  surveyed  Theodora  as  if  she  were  some 
object  in  nature  or  art  put  up  for  his  especial  inspection. 
Theodora  did  not  at  all  fancy  his  manner,  and,  returning 
his  bow  with  a  very  dignified  inclination  of  her  head, 
turned  towards  her  uncle,  who  had  been  watching  her 
face  with  an  amused  expression  on  his  own,  and  com- 
menced talking  with  him  with  an  air  of  such  perfect  in- 
difference to  the  charms  of  Mr.  Simperton,  that  no  one 
could  possibly  doubt  its  sincerity. 

"  We  are  on  our  way  to  the  beach,"  said  Kate  ;  "  won't 
you  take  this  vacant  seat  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  get  in,  Simperton,"  said  Mr.  Temple;  "I'm 
going  round  to  the  village,  and  am  going  to  drop  the 
ladies  on  the  way." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Mr.  Simperton,  as  he  got  into 
the  carriage.  "I  really  ought  not  to  do  it,  you  know, 
because  I'm  under  the  doctor's  care,  and  one  of  his  most 
particular  directions  is,  that  I  shall  take  any  quantity 
of  exercise." 

"  So  that  accounts  for  the  fact  of  your  not  riding  tc 
the  beach,"  said  Kate.  "  I  thought  it  was  something 
remarkable.  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you've  left 
your  lovely  grays  in  the  city?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  go  anywhere  without  them,  you 
know.  I  shall  drive  every  evening." 

"  Theodora,  you  must  see  Mr.  Simperton's  grays," 
said  Kate ;  "  they  are  superb." 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  39 

"I  should  like  to  see  them  very  much,"  replied  Theo- 
dora, slightly  turning  her  head  as  she  spoke  ;  "  but  I 
don't  think  I  could  possibly  admire  them  more  than  I  do 
Uncle  John's  chestnuts." 

"  Is  your  cousin  fond  of  horse-flesh?"  drawled  Mr. 
Simperton. 

"  She  appears  to  be,"  said  Kate ;  "  but  you  must  ask 
her." 

"Miss  Hartshorn,"  he  asked,  leaning  forward  very 
slightly  towards  Theodora,  "are  you  fond  of  horse- 
flesh?" 

"  I  never  ate  any,"  replied  Theodora,  rather  shortly. 

Mr.  Simperton  looked  rather  nonplussed.  "  Oh  !  I 
did  not  mean  in  that  way,  you  know ;  I  used  the  lan- 
guage of  the  turf." 

•  "  As  I  am  not  a  horse-jockey,  you  will  please  excuse 
me  if  I  don't  understand  you,"  replied  Theodora,  pre- 
tending to  be  so  busy  managing  the  horses  as  to  be  obliged 
to  look  straight  before  her,  but  saying  under  her  breath 
so  that  no  one  but  her  uncle  heard  her,  "  Hartshorn 
indeed  !  how  stupid  !  " 

Mr.  Simperton,  not  being  at  all  used  to  rebuffs  from 
the  fair  sex,  looked  upon  Theodora's  indifference  as  a 
want  of  appreciation,  and  immediately  set  her  down  in 
his  own  mind  as  an  unsophisticated  school-<rirl,  whose 
acquaintance  it  really  was  not  worth  the  while  to  culti- 
vate, so  devoted  himself  to  Kate  for  the  rest  of  the  drive. 

"0  Kate,  look!"  exclaimed  Theodora,  with  an 
animation  that  very  much  surprised  Mr.  Simperton ; 
"there's  the  beach  !  " 

"Yes,  and  every  one  is  there.  There's  the  Grahams' 
carriage,  and  the  Dal  tons',  and  the  Dry  dens',  and  every 
body  we  know;  we'll  get  out  here,  papa." 

As  the  carriage  stopped,  two  gentlemen  stepped  for- 


40  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

ward  and  assisted  the  ladies  to  alight,  before  Mr.  Simper- 
ton's  languid  movement  had  enabled  him  to  do  so. 

"lam  so  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Kate!"  exclaimed 
the  younger  gentleman,  a  handsome  fellow  about  twenty 
years  old.  as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Kate;  "  I  had 
begun  to  think  you  were  not  coming  this  summer." 

"Oh,  no  danger  of  that,  Harry,"  said  Kate,  shaking 
hands  with  him  very  cordially,  —  "Mr.  Dal  ton,  Miss 
Hartwell." 

Mr.  Dalton  bowed.  "  But  where  are  your  bathing- 
dresses,  Miss  Kate?"  he  asked.  "I'm  all  ready  to 
carry  them  for  you." 

"  We  are  not  going  to  bathe  this  morning,"  answered 
Kate.  "  My  cousin  has  never  been  to  the  beach  before, 
BO  we  thought  we  would  have  the  fun  of  looking  on." 

"Indeed,  it  will  be  fun  for  Miss  Hartwell,"  said  Mr. 
Dalton;  "for  a  more  ridiculous  sight  than  a  lot  of 
people  just  as  they  come  out  of  the  water  I  defy  any- 
body to  find." 

"It  must  be  very  absurd,"  replied  Theodora.  "I 
should  think  they  would  look  very  much  like  drowned 
rats." 

"  That's  just  what  they  do,"  laughed  Mr.  Dalton  ; 
"  and  very  poor  specimens  at  that.  Where  shall  we  go, 
Miss  Kate,  — to  the  ledge?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  by  all  means,"  answered  Kate.  "That 
is  the  best  place  to  watch  the  bathers.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Simperton?" 

"  Oh,  anywhere,"  drawled  Mr.  Simperton.  "  It  doesn't 
make  any  difference  to  me,  you  know.  I've  seen  people 
bathe  before." 

"So  have  I,"  replied  Kate.  "But  I  have  by  no 
means  lost  my  relish  for  the  sight.  There  is  always  some 
one,  or  something,  to  make  it  interesting  every  year." 

"Where's  Thurston,  I  wonder?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dal- 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  41 

ton,  looking  about  for  his  friend,  as  they  walked  on. 
"Oh,  there  he  is  talking  with  your  father.  Thurston, 
we're  going  to  the  ledge  to  watch  the  bathers.  Are  you 
going  in,  or  will  you  come  with  us  ?  " 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  called  back  his  friend,  bowing  to 
Mr.  Temple  as  he  drove  off,  and  hurrying  down  to  the 
beach  to  join  the  others. 

Kate  presented  him  to  her  cousin,  and  then  the  party 
started  for  the  ledge,  —  a  high  crest  of  rocks,  over  which 
a  few  struggling  trees  spread  their  branches,  and  which 
was  always  the  c:  grand  stand  "  for  those  lookers-on  who 
did  not  remain  in  their  carriages. 

"  Isn't  this  salt  air  perfectly  delightful  ?  "  exclaimed 
Theodora.  "  It  makes  me  feel  like  a  wild  creature. 
How  I  should  like  a  good  run  on  this  smooth  beach  !  " 

"Come,  let's  try  it,"  said  Mr.  Dalton.  "I  should 
like  nothing  better;"  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  they  both  started  at  full  speed,  like  two  children, 
Dalton  shouting  over  his  shoulder  as  they  left  the  others, 
"  No  reserved  seats.  We  shall  get  the  best  of  you." 

Rushing  along  in  the  fresh  morning  breeze,  her  two 
braids  of  shining  hair  flying  behind  her,  her  cheeks 
bright  as  roses,  and  eyes  dancing  with  fun,  utterly 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  scores  of  eyes  were  on  her, 
Theodora  looked  the  perfect  picture  of  health,  youth,  and 
beauty.  Several  dainty  maidens  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders, elevated  their  eyebrows,  and  looked  elegantly 
shocked  as  the  two  ran  past  them,  while  the  eyes  of  the 
gentlemen  followed  them  with  evident  admiration. 

Quite  out  of  breath,  but  laughing  and  chatting  in  the 
easiest  manner  possible,  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
ledge,  and  climbing  about  half-way  up,  stopped  to  rest 
on  a  projecting  rock  on  which  sat  an  elderly  gentleman, 
who  called  to  Mr.  Dalton  as  they  came  up:  "I  envy 
you,  Harry.  I've  been  watching  you  ever  since  you 


42  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

started.  I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  if  I  could  start  off 
and  take  such  a  run  as  you  and  your  friend  have  just 
had." 

"  I  tell  you,  it  was  just  jolly  !"  replied  Harry,  in  a 
boyish  way,  that  was  refreshing  to  hear.  "Miss  Hart- 
well,  Mr.  Hudson." 

"Hartwell!  Hartwell !  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentle- 
man, smiling,  and  offering  his  hand.  "I  wonder,  now, 
if  you  can  be  any  relation  to  an  old  classmate  of  mine, 
Richard  Hartwell." 

"Why,  he's  my  father,"  replied  Theodora,  with 
evident  delight,  returning  Mr.  Hudson's  shake  of  the 
hand  with  energy. 

"Is  that  really  so?"  said  Mr.  Hudson.  "  I  am 
delighted  to  meet  you!  delighted!  Your  father  and  I 
were  chums  in  college.  The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  on 
his  wedding-day.  I  have  been  wandering  all  over  the 
world  since  then,  and  have  quite  lost  sight  of  him.  Is 
he  here?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Theodora,  "he  is  at  home.  I  am 
here  with  my  uncle,  Mr.  Temple." 

"I  remember  him  perfectly,"  said  Mr.  Hudson,  "al- 
though I  knew  him  very  slightly;  but  your  mother, 
Theodora  Temple,  —  ah  !  she  was  a  woman  worth  look- 
ing at  more  than  once  !  I  knew  her  very  well.  In  fact, 
I  didn't  know  but  Sam  Hudson,  instead  of  Dick  Hart- 
well,  would  have  her  for  his  wife ;  but  that  time  your 
father  got  ahead  of  me." 

"  Why,  are  you  Sam  Hudson  ?  "  asked  Theodora,  in 
a  tone  of  great  surprise;  "and  were  you  one  of  my 
mother's  groomsmen  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Hudson.  "  So  you've 
heard  of  me  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Theodora.  "  There's  nothing  Hike 
better  than  getting  mother  to  talk  about  '  old  times,'  and 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  43 

what  she  did  when  she  was  a  girl.  She's  often  spoken 
of  Sara  Hudson;  but  I  didn't  suppose  you  were  the 
one." 

"  Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  Mr.  Hudson.  "  I've 
no  doubt  you  thought  of  him  as  quite  a  gay  young  man, 
and  couldn't  associate  him  in  your  mind  with  such  an 
old  fellow  as  myself.  Well,  he  was  a  gay  young  man 
once,  quite  a  beau  in  his  way,  so  he  used  to  think ;  but 
time,  my  dear,  time  makes  sad  work  with  us  boys  by  the 
time  we're  sixty  or  so.  However,  we'll  be  good  friends 
in  memory  of  those  same  '  old  times  '  you're  so  fond  of 
hearing  about." 

"  Indeed  we  will,"  said  Theodora,  sincerely.  "  I 
think  I  should  like  you  any  way  ;  but  if  you  are  one  of 
father's  and  mother's  old  friends,  why,  I  shall  like  you 
all  the  more." 

"  Then  it's  a  bargain,"  said  Mr.  Hudson,  "  and  Harry 
shall  be  witness.  How  long  have  you  two  known  each 
other?" 

Harry  Dalton  glanced  at  Theodora  with  an  amused 
expression  as  he  answered,  "Just  about  twenty  minutes, 
Mr.  Hudson  ;  but  I've  known  her  cousin,  Miss  Temple, 
ever  since  I  was  a  little  shaver,  and  have  often  heard  of 
Miss  Hartwell ;  so  you  see  I  don't  feel  as  if  we  were 
strangers.  There  comes  Miss  Temple  now,  with  Thurs- 
ton  Lee ;  and  Smythe  Simperton  brings  up  the  rear. 
By  Jove!  aren't  they  a  handsome  couple?  " 

"  So  that's  Miss  Temple,  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Hudson. 
"Yes,  she  is  handsome,  and  wonderfully  like  her  father 
when  I  knew  him." 

"  Do  look  at  Simperton,"  said  Harry  ;  "  now  wouldn't 
you  think,  by  that  exhausted  air  he  puts  on,  that  he  waa 
climbing  Mount  Blanc  ?" 

"He  is  an  invalid,  isn't  he?"  asked  Theodora;  "he 
said  something  about  being  under  the  doctor's  care." 


44  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

"  An  invalid !  "  exclaimed  Harry,  contemptuously :  "so 
that's  his  latest  go,  is  it  ?  He  tries  a  new  dodge  every  sea- 
son, to  make  himself  more  interesting ;  last  year  he  had  tho 
sporting  fever,  and  talked  about  his  guns  and  his  '  dawgs,' 
and  his  shooting-box,  and  sprinkled  his  conversation  with 
all  sorts  of  sportsman-like  phrases,  though  I  don't  believe 
he  could  hit  a  cow  at  forty  paces  if  he  tried.  I'd  be  will- 
ing to  set  myself  up  for  his  target." 

"  How  you  did  run  !  "  said  Kate,  as  she  and  the  gen- 
tlemen reached  the  rock  on  which  the  others  stood.  "I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  yourself;  you  looked  like  a 
little  girl  just  let  loose  from  school." 

"  And  I  feel  like  one,"  said  Theodora,  drawing  a  long 
breath;  "  not  that  I  have  been  under  school  restraint,  by 
any  means,  but  there  is  something  in  this  air  that  makes 
me  feel  like  another  creature  ;  so  if  I  do  anything  horrible 
and  shocking  I'm  not  responsible  for  it."' 

"  If  people  are  shocked  at  the  sight  of  a  young  girl  with 
strength  and  life  enough  for  such  a  good  run  as  you  have 
just  taken,  it  is  a  pity  they  couldn't  be  shocked  a  little 
oftener,  so  as  to  get  used  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Hudson. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hudson,"  laughed  Theodora.  "  But, 
Kate,  this  gentleman  is  an  old  friend  of  father's,  and 
used  to  know  Uncle  Jack  too,  and  was  one  of  mother's 
groomsmen,  —  only  think  of  that !  " 

"  I  suppose  we  are  to  consider  that  an  introduction," 
laughed  Mr.  Hudson,  extending  his  hand  cordially  to 
Kate  ;  "and  very  glad  I  am  to  meet  you." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Kate,  with  equal  cordiality. 
"  Papa  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Are  you  here  for  the 
summer?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  with  the  Daltons,  by  Harry's  invitation," 
laughed  Mr.  Hudson  ;  "he  and  I  are  just  of  an  age." 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Hudson,"  said  Harry.  "  That's  the 
greatest  compliment  I  ever  had  paid  me." 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  45 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so."  replied  Mr.  Hudson. 

"  I  say,  Hudson,"  drawled  Smythe  Simperton,  "  don't 
you  find  this  thing  rather  slow  after  Brighton,  you 
know?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Simperton,"  replied  Mr.  Hudson,  in  a  dig- 
nified tone  ;  "  I  do  not." 

"  But,  then,"  continued  Simperton,  apparently  oblivi- 
ous to  the  chilliness  of  Mr.  Hudson's  tone  and  manner, 
"  we  Americans  don't  do  things  up  as  the  English  do. 
Scranton  makes  a  deuced  poor  show  side  of  Brighton." 

"  Not  in  my  opinion,"  replied  Mr.  Hudson  ;  "  in  some 
respects  they  are  altogether  too  much  alike  to  suit  me  ; 
one  finds  the  same  percentage  of  fools  at  either  place. 
Miss  Temple,  I  think  you  will  find  this  place  rather 
pleasanter." 

"  Simperton  will  find  he  can't  try  the  familiar  dodge 
with  Mr.  Hudson,"  said  Harry  Dalton,  in  an  undertone 
to  Theodora;  "  he's  not  the  man  to  stand  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  he  would,"  exclaimed  Theodora, 
indignantly.  "Hudson!  Outrageous!  I  never  heard 
such  impertinence.  He  didn't  speak  so  to  Uncle  Jack." 

"  I  guess  he  didn't,"  replied  Harry.  "  Mr.  Temple  is 
another  who  wouldn't  put  up  with  it;  but,  as  a  general 
thing,  Simperton  does  and  says  just  what  he  pleases,  and 
no  one  thinks  anything  about  it,  just  because  he  does  it. 
But  Mr.  Hudson  gave  him  rather  a  severe  hit  just  now." 

"He  didn't  notice  it,"  replied  Theodora. 

"  Yes,  he  did,  I'm  sure,"  said  Harry  ;  "  he's  not  such 
a  fool  as  he  sometimes  seems,  but  he  wouldn't  appear  to 
think  that  any  one  could  snub  him.  "  See  !  "  he  cried, 
speaking  now  to  everyone,  "  there  comes  a  squad  of 
bathers !  " 

"Oh,  don't  they  look  pretty?"  cried  Theodora. 
"  Why,  some  of  them  are  lovely,  and  not  at  all  ridicu- 
lous, as  I  expected  they  would  be." 


46  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

"  Just  wait  until  you  see  them  come  out,"  said  Thurs- 
ton  Lee;  "that's  the  time  to  judge.  Bathing  is  a 
terrible  test  of  feminine  beauty;  young  ladies  leave  their 
back  hair  in  the  bath-houses,  and  crimps  and  frizzes  are 
ruthlessly  tucked  under  oil-skin  caps,  which,  however 
useful,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  becoming." 

"  Mr.  Lee,  you're  a  slanderer,"  said  Kate;  "  I  shan't 
listen  to  such  imputations  against  my  sex.  You  should 
take  it  for  granted  that  a  young  lady's  back  hair  is  all 
her  own,  and  not  make  such  dreadful  insinuations ;  believe 
your  eyes  and  not  your  ears." 

"  If  I  didn't  believe  my  eyes,"  laughed  Mr.  Lee,  "  I 
shouldn't  make  such  apparently  rash  statements.  When 
every  other  shop-window  is  filled  with  braids,  curls, 
switches,  chignons,  and  mercy  knows  what  not  in  the  hair 
line,  it  is  fair  to  suppose  that  ladies  must  wear  such  things. 
If  they  don't,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  the  commercial  interests 
of  the  country  are  in  a  most  hazardous  condition,  and  half 
the  shopkeepers  in  Boston  are  likely  to  become  bankrupt." 

"We  won't  discuss  the  subject,"  said  Kate,  assuming 
an  air  of  injured  dignity,  and  exclaiming  the  next  instant, 
"  Oh,  who  is  that  lady  coming  from  the  bath-house  on 
the  left  ?  —  the  lady  with  the  black  and  white  striped 
dress,  trimmed  Avith  blue,  and  that  picturesque  hat ;  how 
very  pretty  she  looks  from  here!  " 

"  Oh,  that's  Mrs.  Drayton,"  said  Smythe  Simperton  ; 
"  haven't  you  seen  her  ?  She's  all  the  rage,  you  know." 

"  Is  that  Marion  Drayton  ?"  asked  Kate.  "  I  wish 
I  could  get  a  good  look  at  her  face,  I  used  to  know  her 
before  she  was  married;  she  was  very  beautiful  then." 

"She  has  changed  very  little,"  said  Mr.  Lee;  "if 
anything  she  is  handsomer  than  ever,  more  womanly-look- 
ing. You  know  she  is  but  twenty-four  now.  I  think 
her  decidedly  the  handsomest  lady  here." 

"Who's  that,  Thurston?"  asked  Harry, — "Mrs. 
Drayton?" 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  47 

"  Yes,  Miss  Temple  was  just  asking  me  about  her." 

"I  tell  you  she's  stunning,  Miss  Kate,"  cried  Harry, 
in  his  outspoken  way.  "And  isn't  the  doctor  handsome? 
I  just  like  to  see  those  two  together.  There's  the  doctor, 
now,  going  in  with  his  boy  in  his  arms ;  just  the  cun- 
ningest  little  chap  you  ever  saw  ;  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the 
water,  and  he's  only  three  years  old.  I  saw  him  the  first 
time  his  father  ducked  him,  and  he  never  squalled  once." 

"  Mrs.  Dray  ton  is  a  most  charming  woman,"  said  Mr. 
Hudson;  "I  met  her  in  Berlin  last  year,  and  saw  a 
great  deal  of  her ;  the  doctor  I  knew  several  years  be- 
fore that,  when  he  had  charge  of  the  hospital.  Is  Miss 
Dray  ton  with  them  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Lee;  "there  she  is,  just  going 
in,  —  the  lady  with  the  gray  dress,  with  scarlet  trimming. 
There,  she  has  just  stopped  to  speak  to  her  brother; 
her  profile  is  turned  towards  us." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  and  a  very  handsome  one  it  is  too.  She 
was  in  mourning  when  I  saw  her ;  red  is  very  becoming 
to  her.  What  a  perfect  contrast  she  is  to  her  sister-in- 
law  !  —  she  is  so  dark,  and  Mrs.  Drayton  so  fair,  a 
blonde  aux  yeux  bruns." 

"  Miss  Drayton  is  really  a  catch,  you  know,"  now 
Bpoke  up  Mr.  Simperton,  who  had  remained  silent  for 
some  time,  with  his  eyes  half  closed  and  the  end  of  his 
cane  in  his  mouth  ;  "any  amount  of  money  in  her  own 
right.  —  millions.  If  it  wasn't  that  I  haven't  energy 
enough  to  come  the  heavy  devoted,  and  never  can  get 
smashed,  I  should  go  in,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  come  out  again,"  said  Harry  Dalton. 

"Perhaps,"  drawled  Mr.  Simperton,  in  a  tone  that 
plainly  showed  he  had  no  doubts  as  to  his  own  powers  of 
fascination. 

"  See  !  "  cried  Theodora,  "  Mrs.  Drayton  is  swimming ; 
doesn't  she  strike  out  splendidly?  " 


48  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

"By  Jove!  she  does,"  exclaimed  Harry;  "cuts 
right  through  like  a  man.  But  then  she  does  everything 
better  than  lany  woman  /  ever  saw,  —  drives,  dances, 
bowls,  rows,  plays,  talks,  — " 

"  Most  every  woman  can  do  that,  you  know,"  drawled 
Simperton. 

"  Yes,  but  every  woman  can't  do  it  as  she  does :  when 
she  talks,  she  says  something  worth  hearing.  I  don't 
mean  by  that  that  she  sits  up  and  preaches.  She's  up 
to  any  amount  of  fun,  but  she's  never  silly ;  and  she 
could  sit  down  on  that  beach  and  make  sand-pies  with 
those  children,  and  seem  just  about  as  old  as  they  are, 
and  the  next  minute  entertain  a  bevy  of  old  ladies,  or 
like  as  not  a  squad  of  professors.  I  tell  you  she's  a  re- 
markable woman." 

"  Why,  really,  Harry,  you  are  very  enthusiastic," 
laughed  Kate.  "  I  shall  have  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Drayton,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  see  if 
she  is  all  you  have  represented.  If  she  has  many  such 
ardent  admirers  I  should  think  the  doctor  would  be 
jealous." 

"No  danger  of  that,"  replied  Harry.  "  They  are 
the  most  devoted  couple  in  .the  world'  not  a  bit  spooney, 
but  any  one  can  see  they  think  more  of  each  other  and 
their  boy  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  put  together. 
Mrs.  Drayton  created  quite  a  sensation  when  she  first 
came  down,  because  she  really  is  so  handsome ;  and  lots 
of  men  commenced  paying  her  attentions,  and  tried  to 
flirt  with  her.  but  they  soon  found  out  that  that  wasn't 
her  style.  She  was  polite  and  charming  to  all.  witii  the 
exception  of  a  few  who  were  too  fast  for  her  to  even 
countenance ;  but  she  never  allows  any  attentions  that 
could  be  considered  at  all  marked,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  all  the  gentlemen  respect  her  a  great  deal  more 
than  if  she  let  them  dawdle  round  her  all  the  time." 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  49 

"  Yes.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dray  ton  are  quite  a  contrast  to 
some  of  the  young  married  couples  here,"  quietly  re- 
marked Tlmrston  Lee. 

"Oh,  conjugal  devotion  has  gone  out  of  fashion,  you 
know."  drawled  Smythe  Simperton.  "  Nobody  believes 
in  the  Darby  and  Joan  style  nowadays ;  that  sort  of 
thing  does  very  well  for  old  fogies,  but  the  young  couples 
of  the  present  generation  won't  subscribe  to  it." 

No  one  made  any  reply  to  Mr.  Siinperton's  remark, 
although  Mr.  Hudson  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
of  contempt,  which  changed  to  one  of  amusement  as  he 
glanced  at  Theodora,  and  noticed  the  expression  of  in- 
finite scorn  and  disgust  with  which  she  looked  upon  that 
noble  specimen  of  the  young  men  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

The  bathers  having  almost  all  come  out  of  the  water 
and  gone  to  their  bath-houses,  Kate  proposed  that  their 
party  should  go  down  on  the  beach  and  meet  some  of 
their  friends,  which  they  accordingly  did,  Kate  walking 
with  Mr.  Lee  and  Smythe  Simperton,  and  Theodora 
with  Mr.  Hudson  and  Harry  Dalton.  As  they  reached 
the  base  of  the  rocks  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  party 
of  bathers  who  had  just  issued  from  the  neighboring 
bath-houses.  At  sight  of  them  Harry  Dalton  ex- 
claimed :  — 

"  There  is  Mrs.  Drayton  now  ;  isn't  she  lovely  ?  " 

Before  Theodora  could  reply,  Mrs.  Drayton  had 
turned  towards  them,  and,  seeing  Mr.  Hudson,  made  a 
little  impetuous  movement,  exclaiming,  as  she  held  out 
both  hands  and  came  towards  him  :  — 

"  Mr.  Hudson  !  how  very  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  where 
did  you  come  from?  I  thought  you  were  in  Egypt  by 
this  time." 

"  And  so  I  expected  to  have  been,"  said  Mr.  Hud- 
son, returning  her  greeting  with  equal  warmth;  "  but  I 


50  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

was  called  home  quite  unexpectedly.  I  did  not  think, 
however,  that  we  should  run  into  each  other  again  so 
soon.  I  hear  you  have  a  fine  place  here,  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton." 

"  It  will  be  beautiful  in  time,"  replied  Mrs.  Dray  ton  ; 
"  as  yet  it  has  rather  a  new  look,  although  we  have  kept 
as  many  of  the  natural  beauties  about  it  as  possible. 
But,  Mr.  Hudson,  I  shan't  think  of  letting  you  stay  at 
the  hotel  when  I  have  a  house  of  my  own.  I  insist  upon 
your  coming  to  us.  Robert,"  — turning  to  her  husband, 
who  had  just  come  up,  —  "  here  is  your  old  friend,  Mr. 
Hudson.  I  am  trying  to  make  him  desert  the  hotel  for 
Hock  haven." 

"Mr.  Hudson!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Drayton,  quite  as 
much  surprised  as  his  wife  had  been.  "  I  can  hardly 
believe  my  eyes.  I  thought  you  were  thousands  of  miles 
away.  Of  course  you  will  come  to  us ;  I  shan't  take  no 
for  an  answer." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to,  for  I  am 
not  at  the  hotel.  I  am  visiting  the  Daltons ;  here  is 
Harry  right  behind  me." 

"  Harry  Dal  ton  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Drayton.  "  Why,  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Dalton.  I  was  so  surprised  and  delighted 
at  meeting  Mr.  Hudson,  that  I  confess  I  did  not  notice 
who  his  friends  were.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Lee.  Mr. 
Simperton,  how  do  you  do  this  morning  ?  —  exhausted 
after  your  walk  to  the  beach?  " 

"Thank  you  for  your  interest  in  my  health,  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton," said  Simperton,  with  his  usual  drawl ;  "  but  I  rode 
down  tliis  morning.  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  picked 
up  by  an  old  friend  of  yours,  Miss  Temple." 

"I  fear  Mrs.  Drayton  does  not  remember  me,"  said 
Kate,  coming  forward  ;  "  she  was  Marion  Berkley  when  I 
knew  her." 

"Remember  you?     Why,  of  course  I  do;    you  are 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM/  51 

Kate  Temple,  and  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  You  don't 
know  how  pleasant  it  is  to  meet  my  old  friends  after  hav- 
ing been  away  so  long.  Is  this  your  sister?  " 

';  No,  my  cousin,  Miss  Hartwell;  she  is  spending  thf 
summer  with  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton, 
addressing  herself  to  Theodora;  "  for  Mr.  Temple's  cot- 
tage is  next  to  ours,  and  I  like  to  be  near  people  with 
whom  I  can  be  neighborly.  I  hope  you  and  Miss  Tem- 
ple will  not  be  ceremonious  and  confine  your  visits  t<! 
formal  calls." 

"  I  never  made  a  formal  call  in  my  life,"  laughingly 
replied  Theodora. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  replied  Mrs.-  Dray  ton  ;  "  and 
I  positively  forbid  you  to  commence  the  practice  with  me. 
You  did  not  bathe  this  morning,  Miss  Temple?" 

"No,  as  this  is  our  first  morning  my  cousin  thought 
she  should  prefer  to  look  on." 

"  You  see  it  is  all  new  to  me,  Mrs.  Drayton,"  said 
Theodora.  "  I  have  never  been  to  a  beach  before;  that 
is,  since  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"  Oh,  then,  of  course  you  will  enjoy  it  all  the  more; 
but  you  mustn't  sit  on  the  rocks  again  and  laugh  at  us 
poor  creatures  as  we  come  out  of  the  water.  It  isn't 
fair ;  besides,  you  must  learn  to  swim  ;  I  know  you  would 
like  it.  Mr.  Dalton,  don't  you  think  you  could  teach 
her?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  if  she  will  only  allow  me  the  pleasure 
of  trying*." 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  thankful  to  any  one  who  will 
take  the  trouble;  but  I'm  afraid  you'll  soon  get  tired, 
for  I  don't  believe  I  could  ever  learn." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  if  you  have  confidence,"  said  Mrs. 
Drayton  ;  "  to-morrow  morning  you  must  take  yeur  first 
lesson." 


52  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

"  Marion,"  said  Dr.  Drayton,  speaking  to  his  wife,  and 
raising  his  hat  to  the  other  ladies,  "did  you  order  the 
carriage  to  come  for  you,  or  are  you  going'  to  walk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  walk,  by  all  means.  Robert,  I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  Miss  Temple,  and  her  cousin,  Miss  Hartwell." 

"Miss  Temple,  of  The  Nest?"  asked  Dr.  Draytcn  of 
Kate. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Kate ;  "  you  see  we  are  near  neigh- 
bors." 

"Isn't  it  delightful,  Robert?"  said  Mrs.  Drayton. 
"  Now  all  my  fears  in  regard  to  its  occupants  are  set  at 
test.  You  must  know,  Miss  Temple,  that  I  have  been 
watching  the  windows  of  your  house  for  at  least  two 
weeks,  waiting  for  some  signs  of  life,  and  never  dreamed 
that  the  Mr.  Temple  who  owned  it  was  father  of  an  old 
acquaintance  of  mine ;  though  if  I  had  made  any  inqui- 
ries, of  course  I  should  have  found  out  at  once." 

"  Have  you  any  plans  for  the  morning's  amusement?  " 
aslced  Dr.  Drayton  of  his  wife;  "if  not,  suppose  you 
invite  your  friends  to  look  at  some  photographs  and  en- 
gravings that  came  down  yesterday.  I  unpacked  them 
just  before  we  left  the  house." 

"  Oh,  will  you  come?  "  asked  Mrs.  Drayton.  including 
the  whole  party  by  her  tone  and  manner ;  "  they  are  lovely 
pictures,  —  some  of  them  photographs  of  views  abroad, 
and  some  really  beautiful  engravings.  Mr.  Hudson, 
there  is  a  Toschi,  —  that  I  know  will  be  enough  to  bring 
you." 

"  Mrs.  Drayton,  you  have  found  out  my  weakness.  I 
acknowledge  the  powers  of  the  Toschi,  and  am  only  too 
glad  to  yield  to  them." 

"  Miss  Temple,  Miss  Hartwell,  all  of  you,  —  what  do 
you  say?  Will  you  spend  the  morning  at  Rockhaven?  " 

As  every  one  readily  accepted  Mrs.  Dray  ton's  invitation, 
the  party  proceeded  leisurely  to  her  house.  The  drawing- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  53 

room  at  Rockhaven  was  very  large. opening  with  French  win- 
dows on  to  a  piazza  that  extended  round  three  sides  of  the 
house ;  the  floor  was  of  polished  inlaid  wood ;  delicate 
lace  curtains  hung  from  the  windows,  and  the  furniture 
was  almost  entirely  of  light,  foreign  wicker-work.  A 
grand  piano  stood  at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  here  and 
there  were  small  tables,  each  one  a  work  of  art  in  itself, 
holding  exquisite  ornaments  or  curiosities,  and  vases  of 
flowers.  There  was  nothing  heavy  or  oppressive  about 
the  room ;  the  walls  were  delicately  frescoed,  and  the 
pictures,  with  the  exception  of  two  landscapes  in  oil, 
were  all  choice  engravings  in  delicate  frames.  It  was  emi- 
nently a  summer- room,  and  no  one  could  enter  it  without 
a  feeling  of  delight  at  the  delicious  sense  of  coolness  that 
pervaded  the  apartment.  As  soon  as  her  guests  were 
seated  Mrs.  Drayton  removed  the  ornaments  from  two  or 
three  of  the  tables,  and  Dr.  Drayton  spread  upon  them 
his  photographs,  which  some  of  the  party  examined  at 
their  leisure,  while  others  entertained  themselves  with 
music,  or  walked  up  and  down  the  broad  piazza. 


54  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THEODORA  REALIZES  THE  TRUTH  OF  AN  OLD  PROVERB. 

"  SUPPOSE  we  take  our  books  out  into  the  grove,"  said 
Kate  to  Theodora,  a  few  days  after  the  latter's  arrival  at 
Scranton;  "  it's  delightfully  cool  there,  and  it's  too  soon 
after  dinner  for  any  interruptions.  All  Scranton  takes 
a  nap  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon." 

"  I  am  agreeable  to  anything,"  replied  Theodora; 
"  particularly  a  hammock." 

"Come  on,  then ;  get  a  book.  I  don't  imagine  we 
shall  either  of  us  do  much  reading  ;  but  perhaps  it  will 
put  us  asleep.  Take  a  hair  cushion  off  the  piazza  sofa. 
I  always  want  one  in  the  hammock." 

"  What  a  luxurious  creature  you  are,  every  way  !  "  said 
Theodora,  as  she  followed  her  cousin  to  the  grove,  with  a 
book  in  her  hand  and  a  cushion  under  her  arm.  "  You 
always  seem  to  have  and  to  do  everything  in  the  most 
comfortable  way  possible.  Do  you  expect  to  go  through 
life  with  all  the  corners  rounded  and  the  hard  places 
padded  for  your  especial  benefit  ?  " 

"Theodora,  don't  moralize  in  July.  I  beg  of  you," 
replied  Kate,  as  she  dexterously  settled  herself  in  her 
hammock.  "  All  I  know  at  the  present  moment  is, 
that  I  much  prefer  having  a  hair  cushion  under  my 
head  to  Manilla  twine." 

"  Now,  I  should  just  like  to  know  how  you  got  into  that 
thing?  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  as  she  watched  Kate,  who 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  55 

was  lazily  'swinging  back  and  forth  in  her  hammock, 
which  was  hung  so  low  that  she  could  just  touch  the  tips 
of  her  toes  to  the  ground.  "It  looks  rather  precarious 
to  me." 

"Spread  it  out  with  your  right  hand,  keep  your  skirts 
in  place  with  your  left ;  sit  down,  and  then  put  your  feet 
up.  It  requires  some  practice  to  do  it  gracefully,  but 
it's  a  very  easy  thing  after  you  once  know  how." 

"There!"  as  Theodora,  after  a  few  unsuccessful  at- 
tempts, and  sundry  demonstrations  with  both  hands  and 
feet,  at  last  managed  to  extend  herself  in  the  hammock. 
"  I've  seen  it  done  worse,  and"  I've  seen  it  done  better. 
You'll  get  it  to  perfection  in  time.  I  wish  you'd  been 
here  one  day  last  summer.  I  never  laughed  so  in  my 
life.  Smythe  Simperton  was  here,  and  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  not  like  to  try  the  hammock.  You  know  he  prides 
himself  on  his  grace,  and  the  elegance  with  which  he 
does  everything,  no  matter  what.  Well,  whether  he 
thought  the  weight  of  his  body  would  spread  the  ham- 
mock, or  what  his  idea  was,  I  can't  say  ;  but  he  sat  right 
down  in  it  without  opening  it,  put  his  feet  up,  and  of 
course  rolled  out  the  other  side.  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  the  expression  of  his  face  when  he  got  up.  I  never 
saw  anything  equal  to  it  in  my  life.  I  had  a  friend  staying 
with  me  then,  to  whom  he  was  quite  devoted,  and  she  was 
out  here  too ;  we  couldn't  keep  from  laughing,  to  save  our 
lives,  although  it  was  rude,  and  I  will  give  Mr.  Simper- 
ton  credit  for  behaving  beautifully,  for  after  the  first 
shock  was  over  he  joined  in  the  laugh,  and  pretended 
to  think  it  a  good  joke.  Fan  told  him  she  hoped  he  did 
not  intend  to  give  it  up  so  soon,  and  he  said,  '  No,  indeed,' 
and  made  another  attempt,  and  that  time  succeeded  in 
getting  in ;  but  the  fates  were  against  him,  for  the  very 
instant  that  he  got  fairly  settled,  and  was  flourishing  his 
hand  at  us  in  triumph,  the  rope  broke,  and  down  he 


56  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

came.  Fan  fairly  screamed  with  laughter,  although  I 
shook  my  finger  at  her,  and  tried  my  best  to  keep  her 
still,  notwithstanding  I  was  almost  choking  myself.  You 
may  be  pretty  sure  he  didn't  try  it  again  ;  and  if  Fan  ever 
wanted  to  torment  him,  she  only  had  to  say  '  hammock,' 
and  he  turned  every  color  in  the  rainbow." 

"  It  just  served  him  right,"  exclaimed  Theodora,  who 
laughed  heartily  at  Kate's  account  of  Mr.  Simperton's 
mishap.  "  A  sensible  man  would  not  have  been  tor- 
mented ;  he  would  have  treated  the  whole  thing  as  a  good 
joke,  and  not  cared  two  pins  what  any  one  said  about  it. 
I  can't  endure  him,  Kate ;  I  haven't  taken  any  more 
notice  of  him  than  I  could  possibly  help,  for,  really,  his 
drawling  tone  and  patronizing  manner  are  more  than  I 
can  stand." 

"Oh,  nobody  minds  being  patronized  by  Smythe  Sim- 
perton,"  laughed  Kate,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her 
book  with  a  languid  air.  "  Of  course,  we  all  know  he 
affects  that  sort  of  thing;  he  knows  we  see  through  it 
perfectly,  and  probably  enjoys  it  all  the  more,  on  that 
account ;  besides,  there  are  plenty  of  mammas,  and  papas 
too,  who  will  stand  being  patronized  by  him,  on  account 
of  their  daughters,  my  dear.  There  are  any  number  of 
girls  whom  Smythe  Simperton  has  every  reason  to  feel 
perfectly  sure  he  could  have  for  the  asking." 

"  Then  the  girls  must  be  wanting  in  every  particle  of 
common  sense,  and  their  fathers  and  mothers  something 
worse,"  exclaimed  Theodora.  "I  should  like  to  know 
what  in  the  world  Smythe  Simperton  has  to  boast  of  as 
an  attraction." 

•''Money  and  a  position,"  quietly  replied  Kate,  who 
thoroughly  enjoyed  rousing  her  excitable  little  cousin,  — 
"  two  things  of  which  all  the  young  ladies  of  the  present 
day  fully  appreciate  the  value." 

"  Don  t  say  all,  Kate,"  replied  Theodora,  "  don't  sajf 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  57 

all.  I  for  one  should  be  ashamed  to  marry  any  man 
from  any  such  motives.  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so, 
and  I  don't  believe  you  mean  half  you  say.  I  wouldn't 
marry  a  man  if  he  were  King  of  England,  unless  I  loved 
him  and  he  loved  me." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  Kate,  suppressing 
a  smile;  "although  I  confess  that  as  yet  you  have 
wasted  your  opportunities,  for  I  really  depended  on  your 
captivating  Smythe  Simperton." 

"  Smythe  Simperton  !  Call  him  Simpleton  and  done 
•with  it;  it's  by  far  the  most  appropriate.  Don't  mention 
his  name  to  me  again,  I  beg  of  you,  or  I  shall  be  dis- 
gusted. Nothing- would  induce  me  to  talk  with  him  for 
five  minutes,  much  less  to  attempt  to  captivate  him;  and 
•with  all  respect  to  you,  Kate,  I  should  prefer  to  change 
the  conversation,  for  I  don't  think  it  has  been  either 
lady-like  or  instructive." 

"  I  suppose  it  does  shock  your  ideas  of  propriety," 
replied  Kate,good-humoredly ;  "but  nevertheless  young 
ladies  will  discuss  such  things.  However,  I'll  spare  your 
feelings,  and  devote  myself  to  my  book." 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Theodora,  a  moment  or 
two  after  ;  "  don't  I  smell  tobacco-smoke?  " 

"Your  imagination,  I  guess,"  replied  Kate,  tossing 
her  book  on  the  ground,  and  closing  her  eyes  for  a  nap. 
"  I  left  papa  asleep  on  the  lounge  in  the  library." 

"  It  isn't  my  imagination  ;  I  certainly  smell  tobacco- 
smoke.  There  !  I  hear  voices  distinctly ;  it's  some  gen- 
tlemen. Do  you  suppose  they  are  coming  here?" 

Kate  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  listened,  as  the 
voices  grew  more  and  more  distinct.  "  'Sh!  "  she  whis- 
pered, raising  her  finger  warningly.  "  Speak  of  angels, 
and  their  wings  you'll  hear;  talk  of — we'll  omit  the 
rest.  It's  Smythe  Simperton  and  some  one  else  walking 
round  his  place.  They  can't  see  us,  the  hedge  is  so 


58  THE    HARTWBLL    FARM. 

high.  Don't  say  a  word,  or  they'll  hear  us  and  come 
over." 

The  voices  could  now  be  heard  so  plainly  that  the  girls 
could  distinguish  to  whom  they  belonged.  Kate  leaned 
towards  Theodora  and  motioned  with  her  lips,  ':  Smythe 
Simperton,  Thurston  Lee,  and  Jack  Ilasbroucke."  The- 
odora nodded. 

The  gentlemen  halted  in  their  walk  directly  opposite 
the  place  where  Theodora  and  Kate  swung  in  their  ham- 
mocks. "  Let's  sit  down  here,"  they  heard  Smythe  Sim- 
perton say;  "it's  deuced  stupid  walking  round  this  hot 
afternoon.  Have  a  light,  Lee?  " 

"  Thanks."  replied  Thurston  Lee.  "  Simp.,  I  should 
hardly  think  in  your  present  weak  state  of  health,  you 
could  stand  such  strong  cigars." 

"  Oh,  any  amount  of  smoking  never  hurts  me;  in  fact, 
it  has  a  soothing  influence  on  my  nerves,  you  know." 

"I should  think  you  would  need  something  to  quiet 
you,"  remarked  Mr.  Ilasbroucke:  "you  are  naturally 
of  such  an  excitable  temperament." 

Mr.  Simperton  made  no  reply  to  Mr.  Hasbroucke's 
evidently  ironical  speech,  and  the  latter  continued  :  "  See 
much  of  the  Temples?  You're  very  near  neighbors." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  over  there  quite  often,"  replied  Sim- 
perton ;  "as  often  as  I  go  anywhere.  I  don't  pretend 
to  call,  you  know." 

"  Call,"  replied  Mr.  Ilasbroucke;  "  no  one  calls  here, 
—  nothing  so  ceremonious  as  that ;  just  friendly  sort  of 
droppings-in, —  that's  what  I  like  about  Scranton.  I 
thought  you  and  Miss  Temple  were  great  friends." 

"  Oh,  we  are,"  drawled  Smythe.  "I  always  liked 
her ;  all  the  better,  I  think,  because  she  never  troubled  me 
by  falling  in  love  with  me.  Yes,  Kate's  a  nice  girl." 

Theodora's  eyes  flashed  at  ^he  familiar,  patronizing 
tone  Mr.  Simperton  used,  but  Kate  only  shrugged  her 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  59 

shoulders,  and  appeared  to  be  very  much  amused,  listen- 
ing intently  as  Thurston  Lee's  quiet  voice  was  heard  re- 
plying, "Altogether  too  nice  a  girl  to  bespoken  of  quite 
so  disrespectfully,  I  should  say." 

"Who  is  that  Miss  Hartwell  ? "  asked  Jack  Has- 
broucke,  as  Simperton  smoked  on  in  sublime  indifference 
to  Mr.  Lee's  remark  ;  i'  do  you  know  her,  Thurston  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ^  was  introduced  the  first  morning  after  her 
arrival.  She  is  a  cousin  of  Miss  Temple's;  a  bright, 
pretty  little  thing,  delightfully  fresh  and  unsophisticated." 

Theodora  blushed,  as  she  sat  leaning  forward  in  the 

o 

hammock  at  the  risk  of  losing  her  balance,  and  Kate 
could  not  help  whispering,  "Tremendous!  coming  from 
that  quarter;  now  for  Smythe's  opinion." 

Theodora  tossed  her  head  disdainfully,  but  neverthe- 
less waited  for  Mr.  Simperton's  reply,  which  was  some 
time  in  coming,  as  the  comments  of  the  gentlemen  were 
evidently  made  between  long  puffs  at  their  cigars.  At 
last  it  came  :  "  Delightfully  green,  you  mean." 

Theodora's  head  went  higher  than  ever. 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  kind,"  replied 
Mr.  Lee.  "  I  meant  just  what  I  said, — delightfully  fresh 
and  unsophisticated.  She's  anything  but  green,  I  can 
tell  you ;  as  you  will  find  to  your  cost,  if  you  try  any  of 
your  usual  blandishments  on  her." 

"  I  assure  you  I  have  no  idea  of  wasting  any  of  my 
ammunition  in  that  quarter,"  answered  Mr.  Simperton, 
with  his  accustomed  languor.  "She's  not  my  style; 
nothing  but  a  little,  pert  school-girl.  Did  you  see  her 
the  first  morning  she  was  here,  racing  on  the  beach  with 
Harry  Dalton  ?  A  pretty  figure  she  cut !  What  dfd 
you  think  of  that  performance,  Lee?" 

"  I  confess  it  was  not  exactly  the  thing.  I  shouldn't 
care  to  have  a  sister  of  mine  make  herself  equally  conspic- 
uous; but  I  think  Miss  Hartwell  did  it  from  the  impulse 


60  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

of  tlie  moment,  and  was  perfectly  unconscious  that  there 
was  anything  out  of  the  way  in  it.  But  she  looked  mighty 
'pretty,  I  can  tell  you,  Hasbroucke ;  you  wouldn't  have 
thought  her  a  day  over  fourteen  years  old.  That  way  of 
wearing  her  hair  in  those  long  braids  makes  her  look 
younger  than  she  probably  is." 

"Oh,  I  presume  she's  sweet  sixteen,"  drawled  Smythe 
Simperton, —  "the  most  insipid  of  all  ages." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  always  rather  inclined  to 
take  up  young  ladies  their  first  season  out,"  said  Jack 
Hasbroucke. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do  enjoy  that  sort  of  thing.  It  is  rather 
interesting  to  watch  their  first  attempts  at  enslaving 
our  sex,  and  their  gushing  enthusiasm  is  very  amusing  ; 
but  this  one, —  why,  I  don't  believe  she  is  out;  and  then 
she's  no  style,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  she  was  very  pretty  and  very  fascinating," 
said  Mr.  Hasbroucke.  "  I  watched  her  for  half  an  hour 
this  morning,  while  she  was  talking  with  Harry  Dalton, 
and  I  own  I  almost  lost  my  heart  in  those  dimples  of  hers." 

"  Dimples  !  pshaw  !  "  said  Mr.  Simperton;  "I  didn't 
know  she  had  any.  But  that's  just  the  style  of  beauty 
that  takes  with  some  of  you  fellows.  I  like  something  of 
a  different  type,  something  more  Junoesque;  little  girls 
with  pug  noses  I  don't  patronize." 

"For  my  part,  I  think  we  have  discussed  the  young 
ladies  quite  enough,"  remarked  Thurston  Lee. 

"  Yes,  much  more  than  the  subject  is  worth,  by  Jove  !  " 
replied  Smythe  Simperton,  with  more  than  "his  usual 
energy.  "  Suppose  we  try  something  more  interesting, 
and  go  and  take  a  look  at  the  horses." 

The  three  gentlemen  rose  and  walked  off,  and  as  their 
voices  died  away  in  the  distance.  Kate  burst  into  a  hearty 
fit  of  laughter,  exclaiming,  as  she  drew  a  long  breath, 
"  Certainly,  there  never  was  a  truer  saying  than  that 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  61 

listeners  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves.  We 
couldn't  very  well  have  helped  it,  but  we  certainly  have 
been  sufficiently  punished.  Theodora,  what  do  you  think 
of  Smythe  Siinperton  now?  '' 

"  Just  what  I  did  before  !  "  replied  Theodora,  indig- 
nantly. "  My  opinion  of  him  was  so  poor  that  it  could 
not  possibly  be  made  any  worse.  '  Little  girls  with  pug 
noses,'  indeed  !  Shouldn't  I  like  to  pay  him  for 
that?" 

"  Try  it,"  said  Kate,  laughing  harder  than  ever ;  "if 
you've  fascinated  Jack  Hasbroucke,  there's  no  knowing 
what  triumphs  may  be  in  store  for  you." 

"  So  I  made  myself  conspicuous,  did  I?  "  said  Theo- 
dora, in  a  tone  of  chagrin,  paying  no  attention  to  Kate's 
remark.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  it  wasn't  proper  to 
run  so  ?  But  I  might  have  known  it  myself.  I  declare, 
I' 11  turn  my  braids  up  this  very  day,  and  never  let  them 
down  again.  I'll  walk  as  if  I  were  a  jointed  doll,  and 
never  turn  my  face  to  the  right  or  left,  speak  only  when 
I'm  spoken  to,  and  then  I  suppose  there'll  be  no  danger 
of  my  shocking  any  one.  The  prospect  looks  enlivening, 
I  must  confess.  I  wish  I  was  at  home  !  " 

"Oh,  that  is  not  polite  !  "  said  Kate,  laughing  heart- 
ily; "you  know  you  don't  mean  half  you  say.  But, 
honestly,  I  do  think  it  would  be  better  if  you  dressed 
your  hair  a  little  more  like  other  young  ladies  of  your 
age,  to  say  nothing  of  abandoning  foot-races  for  the  rest 
of  the  summer." 

"Don't  say  another  word,  I  beg  of  you  !  "  cried  The- 
odora, holding  up  her  hands  entreatingly.  "  I  won't 
shock  you  again  ;  you  needn't  be  frightened.  Come.  I've 
had  enough  of  this  grove  for  one  day ;  come  into  the 
house,  do,  and  show  me  how  to  put  up  my  back  hair." 


62  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MR.  SIMPERTON  EXPERIENCES  A  NOVEL  SENSATION. 

"  SCRANTON,  August  20, 187-. 

DEAR  MOTHER  :  —  In  my  last  letter  to  Dick,  I  believe  I  mentioned 
our  picnic,  which  was  to  come  off  the  following  day.  It  passed  off 
splendidly,  as  everything  always  does  that  Mrs.  Drayton  has  any- 
thing to  do  with.  We  went  in  four  large  row-boats,  the  gentlemen 
rowing,  of  course  ;  only  once  in  a  while  being  relieved  (?)  by  a 
lady.  I  went  in  the  boat  with  Mrs.  Drayton,  Miss  Sarah  Brown, 
who  is  visiting  at  Rockhaven,  Mr.  Hasbroucke.  Mr.  Dal  ton,  and  Mr. 
Simperton.  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  Mr.  Dalton,  and  /  did  the  rowing,  as 
Mr.  S.  could  not  get  up  energy  enough  for  so  much  exertion,  or 
else  didn't  know  how.  It  was  the  loveliest  day  we  could  possibly 
have  had,  just  warm  enough,  and  everybody  seemed  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  The  row  up  the  river  was  perfectly  charming.  We  went 
up  about  three  miles,  to  Silver  Springs,  where  we  got  out  and  had 
our  lunch,  wandered  about  the  woods,  and  had  a  delightful  time  gen- 
erally. Dr.  Heinicken  took  his  guitar  with  him.  He  has  a  very 
fine  voice,  and  knows  how  to  use  it,  and  is  very  obliging.  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  aboutDr.  Heinicken;  he  has  only  been  here  a  week,  but 
we  all  like  him  ever  so  much.  He  is  a  young  German  physician, 
and  is  head  surgeon  of  a  hospital  in  Berlin,  the  same  hospital  Dr. 
Drayton  was  in  when  he  lived  in  Germany.  When  Dr.  Drayton 
went  abroad,  directly  after  his  marriage,  his  niece,  Rachel,  went 
with  him.  They  spent  the  winter  in  Berlin.  Dr.  H.  and  Rachel 
fell  in  love  with  each  other,  and  are  to  be  married  this  fall  ;  and  the 
best  part  of  the  whole  thing  is  that  he  has  nothing  in  the  world  but 
his  salary,  and  she  is  immensely  wealthy.  Things  do  come  out 
sometimes  just  as  they  ought,  don't  they  ?  But  I  forgot  to  say  that 
Dr.  Drayton,  — »who  had  always  given  his  services  to  the  hospital, 
for  it  was  a  charitable  institution, — When  he  left  Berlin,  gave  a  sum 
of  money  to  the  trustees,  the  interest  of  which  was  to  pay  a  halid- 
some  salary  to  the  surgeon  who  took  his  place  .  and  now  that  same 
surgeon  is  going  to  marry  his  sister.  I  call  that  romantic. 

"  The  grand  '  hop '  of  the  season,  so  far,  came  off  last  Saturday 
night,  and  I  had  a  perfectly  splendid  time.  Kate  has  been  teaching 
me  how  to  dance  ever  since  I  have  been  here,  so  that  I  got  on  beauti- 
fully <md  didn't  make  my  self  ridiculous,  as  I  feared  I  might.  I  wore 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  63 

my  whit  3  muslin,  the  over-skirt  looped  up  with  ferns,  and  a  wreath 
of  them  in  my  hair.  Altogether  I  was  quite  satisfied  with  my  person- 
al appearance,  although  I  felt  rather  insignificant  beside  Kate,  who 
is  one  of  the  handsomest  girls  here.  Her  nose  must  make  mine 
look  pugger  than  ever,  and  she  is  so  tall ;  but  then  my  train 
relieved  my  feelings  immensely,  and,  wonderful  to  relate,  I  didn't 
stumble  over  it  and  break  my  neck,  as  I  fully  expected  I  should.  I 
did  tear  a  piece  out  of  the  hem  ;  but  I  mended  it  so  that  you  would 
never  know  it.  Perhaps  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton  admired  the  '  Ingy  ; '  thought  it  was  the  handsomest  one  she 
ever  saw :  tell  that  to  Charity.  Mrs.  D.  is  the  loveliest  woman  I 
ever  knew.  I  thought  her  the  belle  of  the  'hop'.  The  doctor  does 
not  dance,  but  enjoys  seeing  his  wife.  He  always  goes  whenever 
she  does,  and  she  makes  him  sit  behind  her,  and  talks  to  him  quite 
as  much  as  to  her  partner. 

"  We  go  to  a  croquet-party  at  Eockhaven  this  afternoon,  and  it 
is  high  time  I  was  dressing  ;  so,  with  love  to  all,  will  say  good-by. 

"  Your  fond  daughter, 

"  THEODOKA. 

"  P.  S.  I  despair  of  ever  writing  a  rational  letter.  Everything 
here  seems  to  be  the  surface,  and  I  find  it  very  easy  floating.  I 
forgot  to  say  that  the  only  drawback  to  the  '  hop' was  the  fact  that 
I  had  to  dance  the  German  with  Mr.  Simperton.  How  in  the  world 
he  came  to  ask  me  is  more  than  I  know.  I  was  dreadfully  pro- 
voked, for  Harry  Dalton  and  Mr.  Hasbroucke  both  asked  me  after- 
ward. Important  if  true  ! 

"T.  H." 

•If  Theodora  herself  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  Mr. 
Simpertori's  attentions  to  her  at  the  hop,  the  cause  was 
by  no  means  unexplainable.  She  had  grown  to  be  a  great 
favorite,  and  was  constantly  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  ad- 
mirers. Her  bright,  fresh  face,  her  entire  absence  from, 
affectation,  and  a  certain  off-hand  way  she  had  of  speak- 
ing, which,  however,  did  not  border  on  anything  like 
bluntness,  or  rudeness,  charmed  almost  everybody  who 
met  her. 

The  old  beaux  of  society,  who  had  been  devoted  in  turn 
to  each  set  of  debutantes  as  they  came  out,  and  had  found 
them  all  cut  after  very  much  the  same  pattern,  were  com- 
pletely bewitched  with  her,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
novelty  of  talking  to  a  young  lady  who  never  listened  to 


64  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

anything  like  flattery  or  familiarity,  and  yet  was  free 
from  all  affectation  of  prudishness  or  precision  in  her 
behavior  or  conversation.  But  perhaps  the  latter  is  a 
charge  which  can  be  laid  at  the  doors  of  few  young  ladies 
of  the  present  age,  as  they  appear  somewhat  more  inclined 
to  affect  certain  masculine  ways  and  '•  loud  ''  conversa- 
tion rather  than  an  extreme  reserve. 

We  have  heard  what  Mr.  Simperton's  opinion  of  The- 
odora was,  when  she  first  made  her  appearance  at  Scran- 
ton  ;  but  that  gentleman  seemed  to  be  pursuing  a  very 
different  course  in  regard  to  her  than  the  one  upon  which 
he  at  first  resolved.  For  some  little  time  after  her  arri- 
val he  took  no  more  notice  of  her  than  common  politeness 
required,  simply  bowing  with  his  usual  air  of  condescen- 
sion when  they  met,  but  never  entering  into  conversa- 
tion. Theodora,  on  her  part,  appeared  entirely  indifferent 
to  his  neglect,  in  fact,  altogether  oblivious  of  his  existence. 
However  much  Mr.  Simperton  might  affect  indifference 
to  the  opinions  of  the  opposite  sex.  it  was  quite  a  new 
sensation  he  experienced  when  he  found  a  young  lady 
upon  whom  he  had  evidently  failed  to  make  the  slightest 
favorable  impression. 

At  first  he  thought  it  must  be  that  Theodora  only  cared 
for  the  society  of  such  young  fellows  as  Harry  Dalton, 
who  had  been  her  devoted  esquire  ever  since  their  first 
meeting :  but  he  soon  found  out  his  mistake,  for  she  was 
as  bright  and  entertaining  to  the  men  of  his  age  and  set 
as  to  her  younger  admirers.  Jack  llasbroucke,  who  had 
shunned  female  society  for  several  years,  was  constantly 
paying  her  every  attention  in  his  power,  and  several  of 
Mr.  Simperton's  own  particular  friends,  who  affected  the 
same  style  of  manners  and  conversation  as  himself,  might 
be  seen  hovering  about  her  whenever  occasion  permitted. 
In  fact,  Mr.  Simperton  found  it  was  getting  to  be  quite 
"the  thing"  to  know  her,  and  immediately  resolved  U> 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  65 

change  his  programme,  and  honor  her  with  a  little  of  his 
society.  But,  to  his  great  surprise,  Miss  Hartwell  re- 
mained perfectly  unmoved  when  he  seated  himself  beside 
her  one  evening,  and  attempted  to  enter  into  conversation  ; 
in  fact,  if  he  could  have  thought  such  a  thing  possible,  he 
would  have  thought  she  looked  a  trifle  bored.  He  con- 
tinued the  conversation  for  some  time,  feeling  confident 
that  she  must  soon  acknowledge  his  powers  of  fascination. 
He  at  first  patronized  her,  as  if  she  were  a  little  girl 
who  needed  his  encouragement;  but  finding  that  course 
without  effect,  tried  another  method.  He  looked  at  her 
from  under  his  long  eyelashes  with  tender  glances,  which 
had  often  caused  many  eyes  to  falter  and  droop  before 
them  ;  but  she  turned  her  own  great  eyes  upon  him  with 
a  perfectly  unmoved  expression  in  their  clear  gray  depths. 
He  lowered  his  voice  to  that  soft  cadence  which  had  often 
called  a  blush  to  many  a  girlish  cheek ;  but  Theodora  did 
not  show  the  slightest  signs  of  confusion.  Mr.  Simper- 
ton  rarely  brought  out  all  his  forces  for  a  first  sortie, 
using  only  his  smaller  guns  of  meaning  glances  and  in- 
sinuating tones,  as  they  seldom  failed  to  bring  the  enemy 
to  an  unconditional  surrender ;  but  here  was  a  citadel 
which  seemed  impervious  to  such  small  shot ;  so  he  imme- 
diately resorted  to  even  bolder  measures,  and  commenced 
flattering  Theodora  in  the  most  pointed  way.  His  first 
attempt  in  that  direction  was  met  by  her  with  a  look  of 
amazement ;  his  second  called  forth  a  witty  repartee  ;  at 
his  third  she  rose,  and,  drawing  herself  up  with  a  digni- 
fied air  that  would  have  been  comic  if  it  had  not  been  so 
sincere,  replied  :  — 

"Really,  Mr.  Simperton,  you  must  excuse  me,  but 
such  remarks  are  not  agreeable  to  me ;  besides,  I  advise 
you  '  not  to  waste  your  ammunition  '  on  '  little  girla 
with  pug  noses;  '  I  assure  you  they  fail  to  appreciate  it." 

Mr.  Simperton  looked  not  a  little  chagrined  as  Theo- 


66  THE    HAKTWELL   FARM. 

dora  walked  away  and  joined  a  group  of  friends  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  for  in  an  instant  the  whole  conversation 
of  which  the  phrases  she  had  quoted  were  a,  part  occurred 
to  him.  He  was  more  annoyed  than  he  would  have  been 
willing  to  confess  ;  still  he  consoled  himself  by  thinking 
that  Theodora's  indifference  to  him  was  now  entirely  ex- 
plained, as  it  was  evidently  the  result  of  pique  at  his  own 
former  opinion  of  her.  Not  at  all  abashed  by  his  first 
failure,  he  followed  it  up  by  several  other  like  attempts; 
but  found  that  flattery,  tender  glances,  and  lover-like 
tones  were  always  received  by  her  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  make  the  person  who  tendered  them  appear  ridiculous 
not  only  in  his  own  eyes,  but  in  those  of  whoever  might 
either  see  or  overhear  him.  In  a  very  short  time  his  en- 
deavors to  make  an  impression  on  her  had  become  so 
marked  that  his  repeated  failures  were  made  the  subject 
of  jest  among  his  companions,  who  never  lost  an  opportu- 
nity of  tormenting  him  about  them.  This  fact  alone 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  have  induced  him  to  follow 
up  his  attentions  until  he  met  with  something  like  suc- 
cess ;  but  he  was  now  actuated  by  a  much  stronger  motive. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  elegant  Mr.  Smythe 
Simperton  found  himself  really  in  love,  that  is,  as  much 
In  love  as  it  would  be  possible  for  a  man  of  his  calibre 
ever  to  be  with  any  one  but  himself.  This  feeling  went 
so  deep,  however,  that  he  threw  aside  much  of  his  assumed 
languor,  became  deferential  rather  than  patronizing  in 
his  manner,  and  by  the  time  of  the  croquet-party,  to 
which  Theodora  alluded  in  her  letter  to  her  mother,  he 
had  succeeded  in  making  himself  much  more  agreeable 
to  her  than  at  one  time  she  would  have  thought  possible. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  67 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  CROQUET-PARTY. 

"  COME,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton,  who  was  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  on  the  lawn  at  Rockhaven, 
"I  think  it  is  high  time  we  began  to  play;  we  want  to 
have  three  good  games  before  tea." 

"Yes,  it  is  after  five  now,"  said  Theodora.  "  I've  a 
great  deal  at  stake  to-day,  and  I,  for  one,  am  eager  for 
the  fray." 

"  Why  are  you  so  particularly  interested  to-day,  Miss 
Hartwell?"  asked  Jack  Hasbroucke,  who  was  intending 
to  play  with  some  others  of  the  party  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  lawn.  "  Are  you  going  to  play  for  a  prize  ?  If  so 
I  think  I  shall  get  one  of  your  party  to  exchange  with 
me." 

"Oh,  you  can't  do  that.  Mr.  Hasbroucke,"  replied 
Theodora,  as  she  stood  balancing  her  mallet  on  the  end  of 
her  finger ;  "  it's  against  the  rule.  You  must  play  with 
that  side  for  the  rest  of  the  season ;  you  know  that  was 
the  agreement  when  we  chose  sides.  There,  I've  done 
it ;  I'  ve  tried  every  day  for  a  week  to  balance  that  mal- 
let while  I  counted  fifteen,  and  this  is  the  first  time  I've 
succeeded.  An  elegant  amusement,  isn't  it?  I  always 
had  an  admiration  for  those  men  in  the  circus  who  bal- 
ance swords -on  their  noses,  and  feathers  on  their  fore- 
heads. Please  to  remember,  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  that  a  cir- 
cus is  the  highest  class  of  entertainment  I've  ever  been 
to,  that  is,  if  I  except  the  Dorcas  meetings,  and  annual 


68  THE    IIARTWELL   FARM. 

church  tea-parties,  which  of  course  are  highly  intellectual 
if  not  exciting ;  but  they  never  afforded  me  the  genuine 
pleasure  I  feel  when  I  go  to  a  first-class  circus." 

"  You  must  live  in  a  benighted  part  of  the  country,  I 
should  say,"  replied  Mr.  Hasbroucke.  watching  her  with 
an  amused  smile  as  she  still  continued  to  balance  her 
inallet. 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  assure  you,"  replied  Theodora;  "  but  I 
never  fully  realized  the  fact  until  I  came  here  and  found 
so  many  new  specimens  of  the  genus  homo  that  I  really 
wanted  to  pack  up  a  few  and  send  them  to  father  as  nat- 
ural curiosities.  But,  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  your  party  is 
waiting  for  you,  and  here  is  Mr.  Simperton  coming  for 
me,  so  good-by  for  the  present." 

"  Miss  Hart  well,"  called  Mr.  Ilasbroucke,  as  Theodora 
advanced  to  join  Mr.  Simperton,  :'  you  have  not  told  me 
what  the  stake  was  you  were  so  anxious  to  win." 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Theodora,  "  you  must  ask  Mr.  Sim- 
•perton  about  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Simperton,  as  he  came  up  to  them, 
"  I  am -the  only  one  who  is  to  either  lose  or  win,  any 
way  you  can  fix  it.  If  my  side  wins,  Miss  Hartwell  has 
promised  to  take  a  moonlight  row  with  me." 

"  And  if  you  win,  Miss  Hartwell?  " 

"  Oh,  then  I  shall  escape  the  possibility  of  going  to 
the  bottom  of  the  river,"  laughed  Theodora,  with  amis-, 
chievous  glance  at  Mr.  Simperton.  "You  may  be  sure 
I  shall  do  my  best  to  win,  for  I  have  never  seen  him  take 
an  oar  in  his  hand,  and  I  haven't  the  most  perfect  faith 
in  his  skill.  Wish  me  success,  Mr.  Hasbroucke." 

"  I  will,  on  one  condition,"  said  Mr.  Hasbroucke  ; 
'•'  and  that  is,  if  you  will  promise  to  take  a  moonlight  ride 
with  me  provided  your  side  is  successful." 

"  I  hardly  think  that's  fair,"  said  Mr.  Simperton; 
"it's  rather  rough  on  me,  you  know." 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  f>9 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  quickly,  "not  at 
all ;  it  only  gives  you  a  stronger  motive  for  doing  your 
best,  because,  if  Miss  Hartwell  doesn't  go  with  you,  she 
does  with  me.  Come,  say  you  agree,  Simp." 

"  Of  course,  I've  nothing  to  say,  if  Miss  Hartwell  is 
satisfied." 

"I'm  satisfied,"  answered  Theodora,  with  a  saucy 
shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "I don't  see  but  I'm  bound 
for  a  moonlight  expedition  with  one  or  the  other,  it 
doesn't  matter  much  which." 

"Your  indifference  is  not  very  flattering,"  laughed 
Mr.  Hasbroucke,  as  he  turned  to  join  his  party,  already 
assembled  on  the  other  side  of  the  lawn ;  "  but,  neverthe- 
less, I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  your  side  will  win." 

"Theodora,  are  you  ever  coming  ?"  called  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton.  "I  thought  you  were  in  a  hurry  to  begin  ;  we  have 
taken  our  turns." 

"Oh,  are  you  waiting  for  me?  Ten  thousand 
pardons  !  But  what  a  glorious  chance  for  croquet,  only 
Mr.  Simperton  comes  after  me,  and  will  just  upset  every- 
thing I  do." 

"I'm  through  the  third  wicket,  Miss  Theodora,"  said 
Harry  Dalton,  who  was  playing  with  her  and  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton,  against  Mr.  Simperton,  Miss  Brown,  and  Mr.  Lee. 
"  I  just  missed  the  fourth  wicket  by  a  hair's  breadth,  and 
down  came  Miss  Brown  and  sent  me  flying ;  do  come 
this  way  and  help  a  fellow." 

"  That  I  will,"  said  Theodora.  "  I'll  do  all  I  can  for 
you,  but  you  will  have  to  look  out  for  Mr.  Simperton." 

"  You'll  probably  send  him  back  into  position  and  put 
him  through  two  or  three  wickets  before  I  get  down 
there,"  said  Smythe  Simperton  ;  "  I'm  slow,  you  know." 

"And  sure,"  replied  Theodora. 

Theodora  was  right.  Smythe  Simperton  played  cro- 
quet, as  he  did  everything  else,  in  the  slowest  possible 


TO  THE    HARTWBLL   FARM. 

manner ;  but  he  calculated  every  stroke  with  the  great- 
est nicety,  almost  invariably  coming  out  ahead  of  those 
who  at  the  beginning  of  the  game  made  more  brilliant 
plays.  Theodora,  on  the  contrary,  played  with  a  cer- 
tain dash  and  daring,  which  at  times  took  everything  by 
storm,  croqueting  at  long  distances  with  almost  marvel- 
lous precision,  and  going  through  two  wickets  at  once  as 
easily  as  one. 

On  this  afternoon  of  which  I  am  writing,  Mr.  Simper- 
ton  seemed  unusually  deliberate,  and  Theodora  played 
even  more  boldly  than  ever  before ;  twice  had  she  cro- 
queted his  ball  across  the  lawn,  watching  him  with  infi- 
nite satisfaction  and  amusement  as  he  languidly  sauntered 
after  it. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  game  was  arranged 
in  sides,  all  the  interest,  regarding  the  result,  seemed  to 
centre  in  Theodora  and  Mr.  Simperton,  as  the  agreement 
between  the  latter  and  Mr.  Ilasbroucke  had  been  made 
within  the  hearing  of  all  the  players,  and  Theodora's 
indifference  in  contrast,  with  the  eagerness  of  the  two 
gentlemen  had  caused  great  amusement. 

"  Miss  Hartwell  is  in  a  very  embarrassing  predicament, 
isn't  she  ?  "  laughed  Miss  Brown.  "  If  she  does  her  best 
to  beat  Mr.  Simperton's  side, —  that's  mine, —  she  will 
be  showing  a  preference  for  Mr.  Hasbroucke ;  and  that, 
of  course,  she  would  not  wish  to  do ;  so  I  shall  do  my 
best  to  prevent  it;"  and  with  a  sharp  blow  she  sent 
Theodora's  ball  out  of  position. 

"That  is  the  first  time  I've  been  croquetfd  to-day," 
said  Theodora.  "  Mr.  Dalton,  you  come  next ;  think  of 
mj  fate  and  do  your  best." 

A  groan  from  Theodora  and  Mrs.  Drayton,  and  a  shout 
of  triumph  from  the  opposite  party,  greeted  Harry's  ears 
as  his  ball  shot  past  instead  of  through  the  wicket,  right 
into  the  enemy's  quarters. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  71 

"Now,  Mr.  Lee,"  cried  Miss  Brown,  in  the  greatest  state 
of  excitement,  "hit  Mr.  Simperton's  ball,  and  send  it  just 
the  other  side  of  the  stake,  where  he  can  lie  in  waiting 
for  Miss  Hartwell,  :is  she  comes  up  through  those  last 
two  wickets. " 

"  Easier  said  than  done,"  replied  Mr.  Lee.  "  I  know 
I  can't  put  him  the  other  side  without  hitting  him  out ; 
however,  I'll  try." 

"By  Jove,  you've  done  it!"  cried  Harry  Dalton ; 
"but  you've  put  yourself  out.  Now  we  are  all  through 
the  wickets  except  Miss  Hartwell ;  no  fear  of  her  though. 
Be  steady,  Miss  Hartwell,  it's  your  last  chance." 

But  Theodora  did  not  play  steadily.  She  gave  a  sud- 
den blow  with  the  edge  of  her  mallet ;  her  ball  flew  off 
on  a  tangent,  and  amid  groans  from  one  side  and  trium- 
phant shouts  of  laughter  from  the  other,  Mr.  Simperton, 
with  the  quietest  little  strokes  imaginable,  croqueted  Miss 
Brown's  ball  against  the  stake  and  followed  it  up  with 
his  own.  Turning  to  Theodora  the  instant  his  ball  hit 
the  stake,  and  raising  his  hat  with  infinite  grace,  he  said, 
"Miss  Hartwell,  the  gods  have  smiled  upon  me  and 
crowned  my  efforts  with  success ;  but  she  whose  smile 
alone  could  make  my  victory  a  triumph  remains  as  un- 
moved as  a  statue." 

"  I'm  thinking  how  cold  the  water  will  be  if  you  upset 
me,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I  acknowledge  you  can  man- 
age a  mallet;  but  I've  my  doubts  about  an  oar." 

"  Who  was  successful  ?"  cried  Jack  Hasbroucke,  as  he 
came  running  across  the  lawn, —  "  not  you,  Simp?  " 

"  Yes,  I  and  my  side,"  replied  Mr.  Simperton,  with  a 
triumphant  air.  "  But,  my  dear  fellow,  it  was  no  more 
than  you  could  expect,  you  know." 

"  He  had  no  reason  to  expect  it,"  said  Theodora,  who 
did  not  at  all  relish  the  perfect  assurance  of  Mr.  Simper- 
ton's  tone ;  "  he  knows  that  generally  we  are  pretty  evenly 


72  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

matched.  But  then,  it's  always  the  way;  if  ever  I  am 
particularly  anxious  to  do  anything  well,  I'm  sure  to 
fail." 

"  Thinks,  Miss  Hartwell,"  replied  Mr.  Hasbroucke, 
who  was  very  much  amused  at  Mr.  Simperton's  endeav- 
ors to  conceal  his  chagrin,  although  knowing  all  the  wliile 
that  Theodora  by  no  means  intended  he  should  flatter 
himself  that  she  wished  to  win  for  his  sake;  "thanks! 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  considered  you  had  an  extra  induce- 
ment for  playing  well  to-day." 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  about  to  remark,"  replied  Theodora, 
nonchalantly,  "that  this  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
played  when  I  might  have  considered  myself  as  defeated 
even  if  my  side  had  won." 

"  You  see,  Jack,  you  can't  flatter  yourself  either,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Simperton.  with  a  laugh,  as  he  took  Theo- 
dora's mallet  and  ball,  proceeding  with  the  others  to  the 
house.  "  But  you'll  admit  that  you  were  fairly  beaten, 
•won't you,  Miss  Hartwell?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'll  acknowledge  that"  replied  Theodora, 
smiling  in  a  very  bewitching  way ;  "  as  fairly  beaten  as  I 
ever  was  in  my  life." 

"And  when  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  the  moon- 
light row?  " 

"Any  time  you  say.  I  suppose  it  must  be  this 
week." 

"  Then  suppose  we  set  to-morrow  night." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Theodora,  nodding  her  head,  as 
she  entered  the  house,  leaving  them  to  deposit  the  balls 
and  mallet  on  the  piazza. 

"I  tell  you  I'm  bound  to  have  my  ride  yet,"  said 
Jack  Hasbroucke  toSmythe;  "you  have  always  had 
smooth  sailing  heretofore,  but  this  is  a  case  where  you'll 
find  breakers  ahead." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Simperton.  in  a  tone  of 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  73 

perfect  assurance,  "  I'm  sure  of  my  moonlight  ride,  and 
after  that  you  other  fellows  will  have  a  very  poor 
show." 

"  Nous  verrons"  laughed  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  as  the 
two  entered  the  house;  "don't  forget  the  old  proverb 
about  counting  chickens." 


74  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

ZENOBIA. 

"  WHAT  perfect  humbugs  we  all  are  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Dray  ton;  "  here  we  are  keeping  as  quiet  as  mice,  and 
I  don't  believe  that  one  of  us  has  turned  a  page  for 
at  least  half  an  hour." 

It  was  the  morning  following  the  croquet-party  at 
Rockhaven,  and  almost  all  who  had  been  there  had  by 
common  consent  taken  their  books  or  work  down  to  the 
ledge  to  spend  the  morning. 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  Mrs.  Dray  ton,  "said  Smythe 
Simperton ;  "  for  I'm  not  sure  but  what  I've  been  guilty 
of  taking  a  little  nap  here  behind  the  shelter  of  Miss 
Temple's  sun-umbrella." 

"  If  that's  the  case,  Miss  Temple  will  change  her  posi- 
tion," laughed  Kate.  "I've  been  making  a  martyr  of 
myself,  thinking  that  I  was  helping  you  to  improve  your 
mind ;  but  I  certainly  shall  not  encourage  such  laziness. 
Mrs.  Drayton,  don't  you  think  it  is  almost  too  warm  to 
read?" 

"  Indeed  I  do  ;  I  myself  have  been  watching  that  gen- 
tleman on  horseback,  on  the  brow  of  the  cliff.  How 
clearly  his  figure  is  defined  against  the  sky !  " 

"Yes,  and  what  a  handsome  figure  it  is  too!  "  said 
Kate  Temple.  "  Tlnodora  and  I  have  seen  him  ever  so 
many  times ;  he  is  a  veritable,  '  solitary  horseman  wind- 
ing up  a  hill,'  and  is  always  seen  'in  the  dim  distance.' 
We  have  never  been  able  to  get  a  view  of  his  face,  for 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  75 

his  back  is  invariably  turned  towards  us.  We  call  him 
G.  P.  R.  James/' 

<:  A  very  appropriate  name,  under  the  circumstances," 
remarked  TImrston  Lee.  "  I  can't  tell  you  who  he  is  ; 
but  I  have  met  him  frequently  about  here.  He  either 
lives,  or  is  spending  the  summer,  at  Wren  worth,  and 
rides  over  to  this  beach  every  day ;  he  is  always  alone, 
and  I  have  never  seen  him  speak  to  a  person.  Without 
being  a  strictly  handsome  man  he  would  be  noticeable 
anywhere,  and  altogether  makes  a  very  striking  picture 
on  his  coal-black  horse." 

"  Decidedly  an  interesting  character,"  said  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton.  "  I  only  wish  he  would  come  where  we  might  get 
a  little  better  view  of  him,  for  I  find  him  vastly  more 
entertaining  than  my  book  this  morning." 

"  There  is  one  person,  however,  who  seems  completely 
absorbed  in  hers,"  said  Mr.  Hudson,  quietly  pointing 
with  his  cane  to  Theodora,  who  sat  a  little  apart  and 
above  the  rest,  and  so  intent  upon  the  contents  of  the  vol- 
ume she  held  in  her  hand  as  to  be  entirely  oblivious  to 
everything  going  on  around  her. 

Ci  I  wonder  what  she  is  reading,"  said  Mr.  Lee  ;  "  it  is 
evidently  something  very  interesting.  Miss  Temple,  is 
she  fond  of  the  sensational  school?  " 

"  Indeed  she  is  not,"  replied  Kate.  "I  rather  think 
she  is  reading  Zenobia." 

"  Zenobia  !  "  cried  Smythe  Simperton,  so  loudly  that 
Theodora  started  and  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"Who  is  talking  -bout  Zenobia?"  she  asked. 
"  Wasn't  she  grand  ?  Wasn't  she  glorious  ?  " 

"I  guess  you  were  right,  Miss  Temple,"  remarked 
Thurston  Lee,  with  a  smile. 

"What,  were  you  talking  about  me?"  asked  Theo- 
dora. 

11  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Dray  ton .;   "  we  have  been  watching 


76  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

you  for  some  minutes.  Mr.  Hudson  called  our  attention 
to  you,  because  you  were  so  wrapt  up  in  your  book." 

"Don't  you  know  what  I'm  reading?  It  is  Zeno- 
bia." 

"You  say  it  as  if  the  name  alone  was  sufficient  expla- 
nation of  your  intense  interest  in  it,"  said  Mr.  Simper- 
ton. 

"  Why,  it  is,"  answered  Theodora  ;  "don't you  think 
so?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  anything  about  it  any  way," 
replied  Mr.  Simperton.  "I've  never  read  it,  you 
know." 

" Never  read  Zenobia !"  exclaimed  Theodora ;  "nev- 
er read  Zenobia !  Oh,  how  much  you  have  lost !  But  you 
have,  Mr.  Hudson,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes,  I  have  read  it,  Miss  Theodora,"  replied  Mr. 
Hudson,  as  he  looked  at  her  with  an  amused  smile  as  shs 
appealed  to  him  ;  "  but  it  was  a  great  many  years  ago.''1 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Theodora  ;  "  and  then 
I  dare  say  you  didn't  feel  about  it  as  I  do.  I  have  read 
it  two  or  three  times  already;  but  there  are  some  parts 
that  interest  me  as  much  as  they  did  the  first  time  I 
read  it." 

"What  sort  of  a  creature  was  Zenobia?"  drawled 
Smythe  Simperton. 

"  Creature  !  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  looking  down  upon 
Mr.  Simperton  indignantly,  as  he  lay  stretched  at  full 
length  a  little  below  her;  "creature!  But  then  you 
don't  know  anything  about  her,  so  perhaps  you're  not  to 
blame  for  the  expression." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  anything  about  her,  that  is  a 
fact,"  replied  Smythe,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hat  as 
he  looked  with  lazy  admiration  at  Theodora,  who  was 
unconsciously  making  a  lovely  picture  of  youthful  enthu- 
siasm. "  I  remember  seeing  Miss  Hosmer 's  statue  sev- 


THE   HART  WELL    FARM.  77 

eral  years  ago,  and  the  only  recollection  I  have  of  it  ia 
that  Zenobia  must  have  been  a  very  uncomfortable  sort 
of  woman  to  have  in  the  house ;  woman's  rights,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

Theodora  said  nothing,  but  cast  a  withering  look  upon 
Mr.  Simpertoni  and  resumed  her  book  with  an  air  of 
offended  dignity. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  make  any  comparisons  if  you  don't  like 
it,"  replied  Mr.  Simperton.  "  I  agree  with  Shake- 
speare, '  Comparisons  are  odious.'  ' 

"  Odorous^  Mr.  Simperton,  if  you  please,"  said 
Theodora,  shortly. 

"Odorous,  is  it?  I  think  I  prefer  odious.  I've  no 
doubt  I  could  improve  upon  Shakespeare.  But  we  won't 
digress ;  I  really  don't  know  when  I've  been  so  much 
interested  in  any  historical  character  as  I  find  I  am  in 
your  friend  Zenobia.  She  is  historical,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  You're  making  fun  of  me,  Mr.  Simperton,  or  trying 
to,"  said  Theodora:  "  but  you  shan't  succeed.  I  won't 
say  another  word  about  Zenobia  this  morning." 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  I'm  not!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Simper- 
ton,  jumping  up  and  leaning  against  the  rock  on  which 
Theodora  was  sitting.  "  I  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing, 
you  know,  'pon  my  honor  I  wouldn't.  Truly,  I  haven't 
half  an  idea  who  Zenobia  was." 

11  Now,  Mr.  Simperton,  you  can't  make  me  believe 
that,"  replied  Theodora.  "Everyone  knows  that  Ze- 
nobia was  Queen  of  Palmyra." 

"  There  !  didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  woman's  rights?  " 
cried  Smythe  Simperton,  triumphantly. 

"Mr.  Simperton,  don't  be  absurd,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Drayton,  who  with  the  others  had  been  too  much  amused 
at  the  conversation  to  take  any  part  in  it  before.  "  I 
had  almost  as  great  an  admiration  for  Zenobia  as  Misa 


78  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

Hartwell  has,  when  I  first  read  the  book ;  and  that  is 
not  many  years  ago." 

"  Miss  Theodora,  why  do  you  admire  her  so  much  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Hudson,  who  loved  to  draw  Theodora  out  and 
hear  her  bright  nai've  remarks  on  any  subject  in  which 
she  was  more  than  ordinarily  interested.  "  What  partic- 
ular element  in  her  character  do  you  mostly  admire?  " 

"  I  like  her  entire,  just  as  she  was,  faults  and  all,'' 
replied  Theodora,  enthusiastically,  turning  to  Mr.  Hud 
son  and  speaking  as  if  to  him  alone ;  "for  of  course  she 
had  faults,  like  all  human  beings.  Think  how  well  she 
governed  her  people,  and  how  they  adored  her;  how 
proudly  she  upheld  the  honor  of  Palmyra ;  how  ambitious 
she  was  that  it  should  be  equal  to,  even  greater  than,  any 
other  kingdom  in  the  world ;  how  gloriously  she  led  her 
armies  to  battle,  going  herself  into  the  thickest  of  the 
fight,  and  encouraging  her  soldiers  by  her  presence  and 
the  sight  of  her  indomitable  courage  !  " 

"I  acknowledge  all  that,  Miss  Theodora,"  said  Mr. 
Hudson;  "but  are  those  the  qualities  you  prefer  in  a 
woman?  I  should  have  said  you  were  not  one  who 
gloried  in  seeing  her  sex  made  the  subject  of  general 
comment  and  observation.  You  surely  do  not  admire 
those  women  most  who  voluntarily  assume  positions 
which  should  only  be  occupied  by  a  man." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  does,"  put  in  Smythe  Simperton;  "  one 
believes  in  female  suffrage,  and  all  that  scr'c  of  non- 
sense. I  think  she  expects  to  be  nominated  for  the 
presidency." 

"Mr.  Simperton,  you  provoke  me  beyond  endurance. 
Mr.  Hudson,  do  you  think  it  follows  at  all  that,  because 
I  admire  Zenobia,  and  think  she  knew  how  to  govern 
her  people,  I  must  necessarily  want  to  have  a  woman 
president?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Hudson,  with  a  quizzical 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  79 

twinkle  in  the  corner  of  his  eye;  "there  never  was  but 
one  Zenobia.  and  she  was  a  conquered  queen." 

"That  was  nothing  against  her  as  a  woman  or  a 
queen,"  exclaimed  Theodora,  jealous  for  the  honor  of  her 
heroine.  "No  one  doubts  the  greatness  of  Napoleon, 
although  he  was  conquered  at  Waterloo.  The  grandest 
thing  in  Zenobia's  whole  life  was  the  way  in  which  she 
bore  her  defeat, — that  was  heroism.  Oh,  how  I  do 
admire  a  truly  heroic  woman  !  "  she  exclaimed,  throw- 
ing out  her  hands  in  that  impetuous,  unconscious 
way  that  made  her  so  charming  to  older  people. 
"One  often  sees  men  who  are  real  heroes, — think 
how  many  there  were  in  the  war,  —  but  we  women 
have  such  a  poor  show.  Just  look  at  the  life 
we  lead  here,  — just  have  a  delightful,  lazy,  good  time 
every  day.  Of  course,  I  enjoy  it  as  much  as  any  one ; 
but  when  I  read  of  such  women  as  Zenobia,  rny  blood 
stirs,  and  I  wish  I  lived  in  a  time  when  I,  too,  might  do 
something  glorious  and  grand,  something  that  would 
make  me  truly  heroic  ;  not  for  the  fuss  and  talk  people 
would  make  about  it,  but  for  the  glory  of  the  thing  it- 
self. I  wish  I  could  have  been  a  nurse  in  the  army,  in  a 
hospital  tent,  where  I  ran  the  risk  of  being  shot  every 
other  minute.  But,  pshaw  !  what  nonsense  I  am  talk- 
ing !  I  shall  go  back  and  shut  myself  up  there  on  the 
farm,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  have  much  opportunity 
to  make  myself  a  heroine." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Hudson,  going 
up  to  Theodora,  and  laying  his  hand  gently  on  hers. 
"It  is  not  always  those  lives  about  whose  glorious  deeds 
the  most  is  known  and  said  that  are  the  most  truly 
heroic.  Go  back  to  your  quiet  home  ;  but  carry  with 
you  that  wish  to-  do  something  heroic,  '  for  the  glory  of 
the  thing  itself,'  and  you  will  surely  find,  as  every  one 
finds  who  looks  at  life  as  something  given  us  for  a  higher 


SO  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

purpose  than  mere  enjoyment,  that  there  is  in  the  most 
quiet  life  in  the  world  something  to  do,  something  to 
bear.  Do  whatever  your  hands  find  to  do,  with  all  your 
might;  bear  whatever  trial,  great  or  small,  that  may 
come  to  you,  with  Christ-like  patience ;  and  who  shall 
say  you  may  not  be  a  heroine?  " 

Theodora  never  took  her  eyes  from  Mr.  Hudson's  face 
while  he  spoke  to  her.  She  sat  forgetful  of  every  one 
around  her,  for  his  earnest  words  touched  the  deepest 
chords  of  her  nature.  The  others  silently  watched  the 
two ;  all  felt  the  force  of  Mr.  Hudson's  manner,  and  no 
one,  not  even  Mr.  Simperton,  cared  to  break  the  spell. 
It  was  a  strange  time  and  place  for  such  thoughtful  words, 
but  no  one  seemed  to  think  them  superfluous.  Mr.  Sim- 
perton moved  forward,  not  to  speak,  but  to  get  a  nearer 
view  of  Theodora's  upturned  face.  The  slight  noise  he 
made  in  doing  so  startled  her.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears  ;  she  was  in  one  of  those  moods  when  a  serious  word 
spoken  to  or  by  herself  would  have  completely  overcome 
her,  and  she  was  not  one  who  voluntarily  gave  way  to 
any  deep  emotion  before  others.  With  a  sudden  move- 
ment, and  a  gesture  that  was  half  comic,  half  pathetic, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  exclaiming,  "  It's  no  use,  Mr. 
Hudson.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  heroine  only  five  feet  two, 
with  a  pug  nose?  " 

Every  one  laughed,  and  roused  themselves  from  the 
grave  silence  into  which  Mr  Hudson's  words  had  thrown 
them ;  but  he  knew  that,  for  all  Theodora's  apparently 
thoughtless  speech,  his  words  had  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  her,  and  in  the  hearts  of  many  then  present  their 
echoes  reverberated  long,  long  afterwards. 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  81 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  MOONLIGHT  ROW. 

"HERE  comes  Mr.  Simperton,  Theodora,"  said  Kate 
Temple,  looking  in  at  the  parlor-window  where  Theodora 
sat  writing  a  letter  to  her  mother.  "  He  is  gotten  up 
regardless  of  expense.  If  he  doesn't  make  a  lasting  im- 
pression to-night,  he  never  will." 

"  Do  entertain  him  a  minute,  that's  a  dear,"  said 
Theodora,  in  an  undertone;  "  I  must  get  this  done  to  go 
in  the  first  mail  to-morrow  morning." 

"That's  the  way  I -always  get  served,"  said  Kate, 
affecting  an  air  of  injured  innocence.  "  I  may  entertain 
your  cavaliei*s  while  they  await  your  Highness'  pleasure. 
However,  Mr.  Hasbroucke  is  coming  from  the  opposite 
direction,  so  I  shall  be  able  to  survive." 

"  Do  run  away  and  let  me  finish  this  in  peace,"  laugh- 
ingly replied  Theodora.  "  Don't  let  them  know  I'm 
here,  and  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute." 

Theodora  was  as  good  as  her  word,  for,  quickly  adding 
a  closing  sentence  to  the  letter,  she  sealed  it,  and  laying 
it  on  the  hall  table  ready  for  the  servant  to  carry  it  to 
the  post,  she  caught  up  her  shawl  and  hurried  out  on  to 
the  piazza. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  Mr.  Simperton  came  towards  her:  "  but  I 
really  could  not  help  it.  Good-evening,  Mr.  Hasbroucke." 

"Don't  mention  it,  Miss  Hartwell,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  Mr.  Simperton,  taking  Theodora's  shawl  from  her ; 


82  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

' '  we  gentlemen  always  expect  to  be  kept  waiting  by  you 
fair  ladies." 

Theodora  made  no  reply  to  Mr.  Simperton's  remark, 
except  by  a  very  expressive  movement  of  the  eyebrows, 
and  turning  to  Mr.  Ilasbroucke,  asked,  "  Shall  I  find 
you  here  when  I  get  back  ?  " 

"  That  depends  a  good  deal  upon  how  long  you  are 
gone,"  laughingly  replied  Mr.  Ilasbroucke. 

"And  that  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer;   indeed, 

whether  I  ever  come  back  at  all  seems  rather  doubtful." 

"  MissHartwell  does  not  appear  to  have  the  most  perfect 

confidence  in  me,"  said  Mr.  Simperton,  as  they  turned 

to  go  down  the  steps. 

"  Oh,  perfect  confidence  in  you,  Mr.  Simperton,  but 
not  in  your  muscle.  However,  I  really  don't  believe  any- 
thing very  serious  will  happen,  because,  if  you  get  com- 
pletely exhausted,  I  can  take  an  oar  myself." 

"  At  least,  Miss  Hartwell,"  said  Mr.  Simperton,  join- 
ing good-naturedly  in  the  laugh  against  him,  "you're 
not  afraid  to  trust  yourself  behind  my  grays,  even  when 
I  have  them  in  hand." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,"  replied  Theodora,  as,  with  Mr. 
Simperton's  assistance,  she  mounted  into  his  dog-cart, 
which  stood  waiting  for  them.  Gathering  up  the  reins, 
Mr.  Simperton  touched  up  the  leader,  and  the  horses 
started  off  at  a  round  pace,  leaving  the  much-suffering 
groom  to  scramble  up  behind  as  well  as  he  could,  regard- 
less of  life  or  limb. 

It  was  a  perfect  night;  the  moon  was  just  rising,  and 
cast  its  long  shafts  of  quivering  silver  across  the  water  aa 
Theodora  and  Mr.  Siraperton  put  off  from  the  shore. 
Mr.  Simperton  placed  Theodora  in  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
and  set  himself  to  work  at  the  oars  with  secret  misgiv- 
ings as  to  what  success  his  efforts  in  that  direction  would 
meet  with.  When  a  boy,  he  had  made  several  attempts 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  83 

at  becoming  an  oarsman,  but  his  constitutional  laziness 
had  prevented  him  from  ever  reaching  anything  like  pro- 
ficiency in  the  art.  It  w?,s  years  since  he  had  taken  an 
oar  in  his  hand,  and  how  he  had  ever  thought  of  doing  so 
now  was  almost  a  mystery  to  himself.  However,  his 
usual  confidence  in  his  OWE  ability  did  not  entirely  desert 
him  now,  and  the  beauty  of  the  night,  the  perfect  calm- 
ness of  the  water,  and  Theodora's  own  evident  desire  to 
look  at  everything  about  her  rather  than  at  him,  were  all 
facts  very  much  in  his  favor.  He  managed,  by  keeping 
up  a  steady  flow  of  comments  upon  various  objects  at  a 
distance,  to  keep  her  attention  diverted  from  his  own  awk- 
wardness, until  at  last  he  became  accustomed  to  the 
movement  and  succeeded  in  pulling  along  quite  nicely, 
although  how  he  was  ever  to  round  the  point  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  for  which  they  were  headed,  was  a 
difficult  problem  for  him  to  solve.  Suddenly  he 
bethought  himself  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  have 
Theodora  take  the  responsibility  of  steering,  and  then,  if 
anything  did  go  wrong,  if  they  run  into  the  shore  two  or 
three  times,  as  he  firmly  believed  they  would,  he  could, 
in  that  very  gentlemanly,  exceedingly  irritating  way 
young  gentlemen  of  the  present  day  have  of  doing  such 
things,  give  her  to  fully  understand  that  it  was  her  fault, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  affected  to  take  the  blame  upon 
himself.  Acting  in  accordance  with  this  brilliant  idea, 
he  said,  "  Miss  Hartwell,  suppose  you  steer  the  boat ;  it's 
quite  interesting,  you  know,  and  I  saw  you  do  it  the 
other  day  at  Silver  Spring  beautifully." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Theodora ; 
"  only  you  must  tell  me  just  when  to  pull  the  ropes,  and 
which  one  to  pull,  for  this  point  is  considered  quite  hard 
to  round.  You  know  there  is  quite  a  little  reef  here  ; 
you  have  to  keep  well  off  the  shore."  9 

Mr.  Simperton  did  not  know  anything  about  the  reef; 


84  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

but  he  thought  it  best  not  to  confess  his  ignorance,  and 
only  remarked,  "  Suppose  you  steer  her  off  a  little;  we 
shall  get  clear  of  the  rocks  then." 

"  Pull  well  with  your  right  oar,  Mr.  Simperton,"  cried 
Theodora,  suddenly ;  "  there's  a  rock  at  the  left !  " 

Mr.  Simperton  started  at  Theodora's  excited  tone,  and 
pulled  so  violently  that  he  whirled  the  boat  half  round, 
and  in  his  confusion  took  such  a  dip  that,  in  vulgar  par- 
lance, he  "caught  a  crab,''  and  was  thrown  backwards, 
with  his  heels  sticking  up  in  the  air  in  anything  but  a 
graceful  position.  Theodora  could  not  possibly  have 
refrained  from  laughing,  if  at  that  instant  the  boat  had 
not  suddenly  whirled  back  again  and  struck  upon  the 
reef. 

"We're  on  the  rocks!"  she  cried,  keeping  her  seat 
only  by  holding  on  firmly  with  both  hands  as  the  boat 
rocked  violently  from  side  to  side.  "  Pull,  Mr.  Simper- 
ton,  pull  as  hard  as  you  can,  or  we  shall  be  over !  " 

But  Mr.  Simperton  was  so  bewildered  that  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  about.  He  made  a  few  frantic  pulls 
at  the  oars,  but  they  only  had  the  effect  of  rocking  the 
boat  harder  than  ever.  The  situation  was  really  danger- 
ous. At  the  risk  of  losing  her  balance  and  being  precipi- 
tated into  the  water,  Theodora  sprang  past  Mr.  Simper- 
ton  into  the  seat  behind  him,  snatched  the  oars  from  his 
hands,  and,  concentrating  her  strength  into  one  mighty 
effort,  with  a  long,  even  pull  brought  the  boat  safely 
off. 

Mr.  Simperton  was  by  no  means  a  coward,  when 
danger  assailed  him  under  circumstances  when  he  might 
be  said  to  feel  himself  somewhat  at  home.  Had  he  been 
placed  in  an  equally  perilous  situation  behind  a  pair  of 
horses,  he  would  not  have  lost  a  particle  of  his  accustomed 
coolness,  and  might  possibly  have  exhibited  much  more 
than  ordinary  presence  of  mind  and  courage ;  but  in  a 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  85 

boat  he  was  entirely  out  of  his  element,  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that  for  a  moment  he  was  thoroughly  fright- 
ened. The  fact  that  he  could  not  swim  a  stroke  had  not 
probably  tended  to  make  pleasant  the  emotions  with 
which  he  viewed  the  prospect  of  an  upset.  He  sat  in  the 
place  Theodora  had  occupied,  the  picture  of  chagrin  ;  but 
as  the  boat  floated  off  into  calm  water  his  usual  self-assur- 
ance returned,  and  he  said,  "Why,  really,  Miss  Hart- 
well,  I  don  t  know  what  I  could  have  been  thinking  of  to 
let  you  pull  that  right-hand  rope ;  it  steered  us  right  on 
to  the  rocks,  you  know." 

"  For  fear  I  might  make  just  such  another  mistake," 
replied  Theodora,  dryly,  as  she  rested  on  her  oars  after 
her  really  great  exertion,  "  you  can  keep  your  present 
position  in  the  stern,  and  Til  do  the  rowing." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Hartwell,  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a 
thing,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Simperton ;  "  the  idea  of 
your  rowing  me,  — it  is  absurd;  besides,  it  will  be  too 
great  a  tax  upon  your  strength." 

"  I  very  much  prefer  taxing  my  strength  a  little,  to 
trying  a  sea-bath  this  evening,"  replied  Theodora; 
tk  however,  I  think  we  will  keep  in  the  open  bay,  as  I 
don't  care  to  attempt  rounding  that  point  again  this 
evening." 

"  It's  very  pleasant  here,  don't  you  think  so  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Simperton,  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  and  feel- 
ing decidedly  uncomfortable  and  out  of  place. 

"Oh,  yes,  very  pleasant  indeed,"  replied  Theodora, 
seeing  his  mortification  and  really  pitying  him,  while  at  the 
same  time  she  rather  enjoyed  the  situation ;  "  suppose  we 
float  with  the  tide  a  little  way.  I  shan't  mind  pulling 
back." 

Mr.  Simperton  thought  it  would  be  delightful  to  float 
with  the  tide ;  indeed,  if  Theodora  had  proposed  floating 
on  out  to  sea,  he  would  not  have  made  the  slightest  ob- 


86  THE   HARTWELL    FARM. 

jection.  He  could  not  remember  when  he  had  ever  been 
in  such  an  awkward  position.  It  was  by  no  means  the 
first  time  that  he  had  sat  at  his  ease  in  the  stern  of  a 
boat,  while  a  young  lady  rowed  him  about ;  but  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  invited  a  lady  to  take  a  moon- 
light row,  and  distinguished  himself  by  sprawling  flat 
on  his  back  in  the  bottom  of  his  boat,  —  a  position  which 
even  his  usual  grace  failed  to  render  elegant,  —  nearly 
upset  himself  and  companion,  and  closed  the  perform- 
ance by  having  the  oars  taken  away  from  him.  He  ac- 
tually dreaded  to  return  home,  for  he  knew  well  what 
would  be  in  store  for  him  if  Jack  Hasbroucke  should 
hear  of  the  affair,  and  he  felt  that  Theodora  could  not  be 
blamed  if  she  pictured  the  whole  thing  in  glowing  colors. 
He  had  had,  when  they  started,  an  undefined  feeling 
that  it  would  be  a  very  appropriate  time  and  place  to  say 
the  few  jvords  Avhich  he  had  been  for  some  time  almost 
certain  were  all  that  was  needed  to  make  Theodora  his 
for  life ;  but  the  present  order  of  things  did  not  seem 
favorable  for  a  proposal.  He  had  thought  that,  when 
they  got  up  the  river,  he  would  stop  pulling,  and,  after 
resting  gracefully  on  his  oars  for  a  moment  or  two,  would 
change  his  seat  for  one  near  Theodora,  and  as  they  floated 
along  in  the  shadow  of  the  overhanging  trees,  tell  the 
story  of  his  love.  It  certainly  would  have  been  a  very 
appropriate,  as  well  as  romantic,  way  of  conducting  mat- 
ters, in  fact,  quite  according  to  all  the  prescribed  rules; 
but  the  fates  were  against  Mr.  Simperton.  lie  certainly 
could  not  deliberately  ask  Theodora  to  cease  rowing,  in 
order  that  he  might  make  love  to  her.  He  had  about 
given  it  up,  for  the  present,  at  least,  when  Theodora's 
proposition,  that  they  should  let  the  boat  float,  gave  him 
the  opportunity  he  desired.  True,  the  situation  was  not 
exactly  according  to  his  mind ;  but  he  remembered  that 
Theodora  was  to  take  her  moonlight  ride  with  Mr.  Has- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  87 

broucke  the  following  night,  and  he  did  not  now  feel  so 
sure  of  his  ground  as  to  wish  to  give  his  friend  an  op- 
portunity of  getting  ahead  of  him ;  so,  resolving  to  make 
the  best  of  circumstances,  he  began :  — 

"Miss  Hartwell,  I  am  so  much  heavier  than  you  are 
that  the  boat  doesn't  trim  well  while  I  sit  here ;  so  I  am 
going  to  take  that  seat  directly  in  front  of  you." 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  does  very  nicely,"  replied  Theodora; 
"besides,  I  shall  begin  rowing  again  directly,  and  then 
you  will  have  to  steer." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  steer  out  here  in  the  open  bay," 
he  replied,  as  he  changed  his  seat;  "and  we  don't  want 
to  go  back  yet ;  it  is  so  nice  floating  in  the  moonlight, 
you  know." 

"Very  delightful,  indeed,"  laughed  Theodora;  "but 
floating  won't  get  us  home  again." 

"But  I'm  in  no  hurry  to  get  home,"  said  Mr.  Sim- 
perton,  with  a  more  tender  inflection  of  voice  than  he 
had  dared  to  assume  to  Theodora  since  he  had  learned 
by  experience  that  she  did  not  encourage  such  meaning 
tones.  "  I  could  float  on  forever." 

Theodora  gave  him  a  quick,  scrutinizing  glance,  then 
answered  with  a  laugh,  "Indeed,  Mr.  Simperton,  that 
wouldn't  suit  me  at  all.  I  am  altogether  too  matter-of- 
fact  for  such  a  romantic  existence.  I  should  catch  a  cold 
in  my  head,  to  say  nothing  of  dying  of  hunger ;  besides, 
•we  couldn't  float  on  forever  without  running  into  some- 
thing or  other,  and  I  am  not  sure  we  should  always  come 
off  as  well  as  we  did  before." 

"  Of  course  I  was  only  speaking  metaphorically," 
said  Mr.  Simperton,  beginning  to  think  that  Theodora, 
as  well  as  circumstances,  was  against  him ;  "I  meant  to 
imply  that  for  me  there  could  be  no  greater  pleasure  in 
this  world  than  to  pass  my  life  —  " 

"Why,  how  far  out  we  are!"  exclaimed  Theodora, 


88  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

0 

cutting  short  Mr.  Simperton's  speech,  as  she  realized  for 
the  first  time  that  his  words  had  more  meaning  in  them 
than  they  had  ever  had  before.  "I  must  pull  back  as 
fast  as  ever  I  can ;  "  and  she  grasped  the  oars  and  com- 
menced rowing  vigorously. 

"Don't  row  yet,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Simperton,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  one  of  the  oars;  "  I  want  to  say  some- 
thing to  you." 

"  Well,  say  it,"  replied  Theodora,  pulling  away  with 
all  her  might,  so  that  the  words  sounded  as  if  they  were 
being  jerked  out  of  her ;  "I  —  can  hear  you,  but  I  can't 
talk  —  myself." 

"But  I  can't  say  it,  Miss  Hartwell,  while  you  are 
rowing  so  hard,"  replied  Mr.  Simperton,  attempting  to 
take  hold  of  her  hand;  "  do  stop." 

"  I  can't,"  answered  Theodora,  desperately.  "  We  are 
—  ever  so  far  out ;  it's  —  very  damp.  Won't  it  keep  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  have  to,"  said  Mr.  Simperton, 
in  a  tone  in  which  impatience  and  chagrin  were  strangely 
mingled ;  but  at  the  same  time  secretly  congratulating 
himself  that  Theodora  probably  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  what  his  intentions  had  been,  or  she  would  not  have 
behaved  in  such  an  exceedingly  indifferent  manner. 

Theodora  pulled  on  in  silence,  Mr.  Simperton  making 
no  more  attempts  to  interrupt  her ;  indeed,  he  hardly 
spoke  at  all  until  they  reached  the  landing,  where,  to  his 
no  small  mortification,  he  beheld  Mr.  Hasbroucke  standing 
to  receive  them. 

"  How  is  this,  Simp.  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  the 
moment  they  were  within  speaking  distance ;  "do  you 
invite  a  young  lady  to  go  rowing  with  you,  and  then  let 
her  do  all  the  work  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  my  own  idea,"  answered  Theodora, 
quickly,  giving  Mr.  Simperton  an  expressive  glance, 
which  assured  him  she  would  tell  no  tales;  "  you  know 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  89 

I  admire  to  row,  and  I  took  the  oars  away  from  Mr. 
Simperton,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances." 

"  Then  you  didn't  get  upset?"  laughinglj  inquired 
Mr.  Hasbroucke.  "I  confess  my  anxiety  led  me  down 
here  to  assure  myself  that  you  were  safe." 

"  Miss  Ilartwell  may  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  interest  in  her  safety."  remarked  Mr.  Simperton, 
somewhat  stiffly ;  "  but  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  I  must 
confess  I  think  your  fears  were  groundless." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  broke  in  Theodora,  who,  although 
she  determined  never  to  mortify  Mr.  Simperton  by  relat- 
ing to  any  of  his  friends  what  had  taken  place,  could  not 
resist  tantalizing  him  a  little;  "  for  my  part  I  am  ever 
so  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Hasbroucke  for  taking  so  much 
trouble  on  my  account ;  and  something  might  have  hap- 
pened, —  we  might  have  struck  on  the  rocks  and  upset." 

"Of  course,  you  might  have,"  responded  Mr.  Has- 
broucke, infinitely  amused  at  Mr.  Simperton's  manner, 
and  having  his  own  private  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
evident  embarrassment,  which,  however,  was  far  from 
being  the  right  one.  "  But,  to  be  honest,  Miss  Temple 
sent  me  down  here  to  say  that  she  had  gone  with  quite  a 
large  party  over  to  the  Ocean  House  to  an  impromptu 
hop,  and  for  you  to  come  right  there ;  my  dog-cart  is 
here,  and  I'll  drive  you  both  over." 

"  I  will  go,  of  course,"  replied  Theodora,  "although 
I  am  in  anything  but  a  suitable  dress." 

"You  drive,  Simp.,"  said  Mr.  Hasbroucke,  as  he 
assisted  Theodora  into  the  dog-cart,  "  and  I'll  jump  up 
behind." 

"  Thank  you.  no,"  replied  Mr.  Simperton,  "if  Miss 
Hartwell  will  excuse  me,  I  think  I'll  not  go." 

"Not  go,  Mr.  Simperton?"  said  Theodora,  who 
really  would  have  been  glad  to  make  amends  for  the 
annoyance  she  had  caused  him.  "  Oh,  you  had  better; 


90  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

these  impromptu  hops  are  ever  so  much   nicer  than  the 
regular  receptions." 

But  Mr.  Simperton  still  declined,  and  bade  them  good- 
evening,  not  thinking  it  necessary  to  reply  to  Mr.  Has- 
broucke's  parting  remark,  "  Well,  Simp.,  we  will  let  you 
off;  for  I  know,  after  the  unusual  exertion  of  pulling  a 
boat  for  over  two  hours,  you  can't  feel  quite  up  to  the 
German." 


THE    HAKTWELL   FARM.  01 


CHATTER   XL 

THE  WAY    OF   THE  WORLD. 

"  COME,  Theodora,  you  might  as  well  confess  it,"  said 
Kate  Temple,  as  the  two  girls  lay  on  the  bed  the  after- 
noon after  the  hop  at  the  Ocean  House,  resting  for  a  Ger- 
man which  was  to  take  place  that  evening  at  Rockhaven. 
"I  am  sure  he  brought  matters  to  an  interesting  conclu- 
sion.'' 

"  That  depends  upon  what  you  call  an  '  interesting  con- 
clusion,' "  replied  Theodora.  "  1  thought,  when  we  were 
on  the  rocks,  the  conclusion  bid  fair  to  be  decidedly  moist." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  at  all,"  said  Kate ;  "  but  the 
persistent  way  in  which  you  dodge  the  question  shows  me 
at  once  that  there  is  more  cause  for  my  suspicions  than 
I  really  thought.  I  am  confident,  now,  that  he  not  only 
proposed,  but  was  accepted." 

"Kate,  you  must  have  lost  your  senses,"  said  Theo- 
dora. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  don't  prevaricate  any  more;  it's  very 
unkind  of  you  to  keep  it  from  me  when  I  was  the  means 
of  your  making  his  acquaintance.  Theodora  Si mperton, 
how  strange  it  sounds  !  " 

"  Kate,  you  provoke  me  beyond  endurance,"  exclaimed 
Theodora.  "  Why,  do  you  really  think  that  I  Avould  accept 
Smythe  Simperton  ?  " 

"  Then  you've  refused  him;  you've  refused  him,  Dody. 
How  could  you  be  so  cruel  ?  Besides,  think  of  the  thou 
sands  you've  lost." 


92  TH3    I1ARTWELL   FARM. 

"I  haven't  refused  him, —  there!"  cried  Theodora; 
"  and,  if  I  had.  do  you  suppose  I  should  tell  of  it?  The 
man  has  never  asked  me  to  have  him." 

"Keally?"  and  Kate's  voice  and  face  both  showed 
that  she  had  been  thoroughly  in  earnest.  :t  Well,  I  was 
never  more  mistaken  in  my  life.  I  supposed  it  was  all 
settled  last  night ;  although  his  non-appearance  at  the 
hop  rather  surprised  me,  but  I  supposed  he  was  afraid  of 
betraying  himself  before  vulgar  eyes." 

"  Kate,  don't  be  absurd,"  replied  Theodora,  sitting  up 
and  throwing  the  great  masses  of  curling  hair  away  from 
her  face,  "  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  talk  so.  Do  be 
sensible  and  quiet  a  minute;  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"  I  promise  to  be  quiet ;  but  I  don't  feel  equal  to  the 
exertion  of  being  sensible.  What  is  ityou  want  to  know  ?" 

Theodora  turned  her  face  full  upon  her  cousin  and 
asked  abruptly,  "  Do  you  like  Thurston  Lee?  " 

The  faintest  possible  tinge  of  red  showed  itself  on  Kate's 
cheeks  at  the  question,  but  she  answered,  with  un- 
wavering eye  and  the  coolest  tone  imaginable.  "Like 
Thurston  Lee?  Oh,  yes,  I  like  him  very  much." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  behave  as  if  you  did?  "  asked 
Theodora,  still  looking  down  upon  her  cousin  with  a  very 
earnest  expression.  "You  needn't  raise  those  black  eye- 
brows of  yours, —  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Why  don't 
you  behave  as  if  you  liked  him?" 

"Well,  really,  Theodora,"  quietly  replied  Kate,  "I 
am  not  aware  that  I  have  ever  given  him  any  reason  to 
suppose  I  dislike  him.  Why  are  you  so  much  interested 
in  him, —  because  you  like  him  so  much  yourself?  " 

"  Precisely,"  replied  Theodora.  "  Although  he  has 
shown  me  less  attention  than  any  gentleman  here,  I  like 
him  better  than  all  the  others,  partly  because  I  think  he 
is  a  thorough,  perfect  gentleman, —  one  who  wouldn't  do 
a  rude  or  unkind  thing  for  the  world ;  and  partly  because 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  93 

I  see  very  plainly  that  he  more  than  likes  my  Cousin 
Kate." 

Again  that  faint  tinge  of  red  might  be  detected,  by  an 
acute  observer,  in  Kate's  cheeks ;  but  she  still  answered 
with  the  same  coolness.  "  What  an  exceedingly  imagina- 
tive young  woman  you  are.  Dody  !  As  Mr.  Lee  rarely 
ever  comes  near  me,  you  must  acknowledge  he  chooses  a 
peculiar  way  to  show  his  preference." 

"  And  why  doesn't  he  corne  near  you,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  with  one  of  her  impetuous 
gestures.  "  Why  ?  Because  you  never  allow  him  to.  If 
he  asks  you  to  dance,  you  are  — '  previously  engaged ;  '  if 
he  asks  you  to  go  rowing  with  him.  you  '  have  a  slight  cold, 
and  fear  the  dampness  ;  '  if  he  walks  on  the  beach  with 
you,  you  immediately  join  some  party  so  as  to  avoid  a 
tete-a-tete.  Of  course,  you  do  all  this  in  an  exceedingly 
polite  way ;  but  you  do  it  nevertheless,  and  Mr.  Lee  is 
not  the  man  to  persist  in  attentions  when  he  finds  they 
are  not  agreeable  ;  he  has  too  much  self-respect." 

"  Really,  Theodora,  I  don't  see  as  anything  you  have 
said  goes  to  prove  that  Mr.  Lee  is  very  much  enamoured 
of  me.  I  have  been  asked  to  dance,  row,  and  walk  on  the 
beach  by  a  great  many  gentlemen  ;  but  I  never  consid- 
ered it  a  proof  that  they  were  in  love  with  me." 

"  Kate,  you  shan't  misunderstand  me,"  said  Theodora; 
"  I  believe  you  have  greater  reason  than  I  to  think  Mr. 
Lee  likes  you ;  and  how  you  can  help  liking  him  is  more 
than  I  can  understand.  Why,  his  little  finger  is  worth 
more  than  Frank  Dale's  whole  body;  and  yet  for  the  last 
two  weeks  you  have  encouraged  him  in  every  way." 

Kate  made  no  answer,  but  at  the  mention  of  Mr.  Dale's 
name  her  face  assumed  a  hard,  resolute  expression,  so 
foreign  to  its  usual  character  that  Theodora  looked  at  her 
a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of 


94  THE    II  ART  WELL   FARM. 

surprise,  almost  of  horror,   "Kate!    Kate  !  it  can't  be 
that  you  mean  to  accept  Frank  Dale  ?  " 

"And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Kate,  in  a  low  voice,  but  not 
raising  her  eyes  to  Theodora's  face  ;  "  he  is  a  millionnaire, 
has  a  house  in  the  city,  a  superb  place  at  Newport, 
horses  without  number,  and  an  undisputed  position  in 
society." 

"  Yes,  and  what  else  has  he  ?  "  asked  Theodora.  "  Kate; 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  far  better,  that  he  has  not  brains 
enough  to  last  him  over  night ;  that  lie  is  the  fastest,  most 
dissipated  man,  in  the  fastest,  most  dissipated  set  in  Bos- 
ton." 

"It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  his  wife  need  be 
fast,  that  I  know  of,"  replied  Kate,  in  the  same  quiet, 
determined  tone.  "  Mr.  Dale  belongs  to  one  of  our  old- 
est and  wealthiest  families;  as  his  wife,  I  should  have 
everything  in  this  world  that  heart  could  wish  for,  and 
hold  as  high  a  position  in  society  as  any  woman  can  hold 
in  our  democratic  America." 

"  Yes,  arid  have  a  drunkard  for  a  husband." 

"Theodora,  I  think  you  put  it  rather  strongly,"  said 
Kate,  still  in  the  same  measured  tones;  "neither  you 
nor  I  have  ever  seen  Mr.  Dale  intoxicated." 

"  Perhaps  not;  but  nevertheless  you  and  I  both  know 
that  intemperance  is  one  of  the  least  of  his  vices.  0 
Kate,  Kate  !  I  cannot  believe  it;  I  will  not  believe  that, 
for  such  a  man  as  Frank  Dale,  you  will  give  up  such  a 
one  as  Thurston  Lee." 

"My  dear,  you  seem  to  forget  two  very  important 
facts  :  first,  that  Mr.  Lee  has  never  sued,  and  is  not  likely 
ever  to  sue  for  my  fair  hand  ;  second,  that  he  is  com- 
paratively poor." 

"I  never  would  have  believed  that  you  could  be  so 
mercenary,"  said  Theodora,  speaking  with  intense  ear- 
nestness. "  Comparatively  speaking,  he  maybe  poor,  so 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  9S 

far  as  money  is  concerned ;  but  he  has  riches  of  which 
Frank  Dale  can  never  boast.  As  Mrs.  Dale,  you  may 
have  a  high  social  position  (although,  in  point  of  family, 
no  one  can  take  exception  to  Mr.  Lee) ;  you  may  have 
more  money  than  you  can  possibly  spend  ;  but  how  much 
faith  will  you  have  in  your  husband's  honor  and  upright- 
ness? Will  you  receive  from  him  the  same  devoted  love 
and  watchful  care  that  you  know  the  wife  of  Thurston 
Lee  will  have?"  , 

"  Theodora,  you  are  growing  positively  eloquent,"  re- 
plied Kate,  as  she  turned  her  head  away  with  an  air  of 
weariness;  "but  really  you  must  excuse  me;  I  think 
it's  almost  too  warm  to  listen  to  any  more  of  your  pretty 
little  discourses  on  matrimony,  the  vices  and  virtues  of 
you  various  friends,  and  their  comparative  qualifications 
for  husbands." 

Theodora's  eyes  flashed,  and  she  looked  both  hurt  and 
angry,  for  she  had  spoken  merely  because  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  remain  silent  if  there  was  the  slightest 
possibility  that  a  word  from  her  would  have  any  effect  in 
changing  what  she  feared  was  her  cousin's  determina- 
tion, —  to  accept  Mr.  Dale,  who  had  been  so  marked  in 
his  attentions  to  her  as  to  leave  no  doubts  as  to  what 
were  his  intentions. 

Nothing  has  been  said  heretofore  about  this  Mr.  Dale, 
as  he  rarely  appeared  at  the  small  parties  or  entertain- 
ments to  which  we  have  already  alluded ;  for  his  charac- 
ter and  habits  were  such  as  to  make  him  an  objectionable 
companion,  notwithstanding  his  acknowledged  claims  to 
a  position  in  society.  Kate  had  known  him  for  a  long 
time,  and  it  was  rightly  thought  that  for  her  sake  he  had 
come  to  Scranton,  which  of  itself  offered  very  few  attrac- 
tions to  a  man  of  his  tastes. 

Theodora  had  seen  with  amazement  the  open  way  in 
which  Kate  encouraged  his  attentions,  and  had  wondered 


96  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

many  times  why  it  was  that  her  uncle  did  not  put  a  stop 
to  them.  But  Mr.  Temple  was  really  not  aware  how 
far  matters  had  proceeded.  He  was  one  of  those  easy, 
good-natured  sort  of  men,  who  let  every  one  have  their 
o\vn  way,  simply  because  it  would  be  too  much  trouble 
to  interfere.  Kate  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  re- 
ceiving attentions  from  men  of  fashion,  and  so  long  as 
they  behaved  themselves  in  his  house,  treated  him  re- 
spectfully, :ind  belonged  to  a  good  family,  he  was  per- 
fectly satisfied. 

Jt  is  only  fair  to  state,  however,  that  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  accepted  marked  attentions  from  a  man 
who  was  generally  acknowledged  to  be  unprincipled. 

For  some  time  there  was  silence  between  the  two  girls. 
Theodora  was  making  a  pretence  of  reading  when  Kate 
interrupted  her,  saying,  "  Attempting  to  read?  Oh,  don't ! 
I  can't  go  to  sleep,  so  you  must  talk  about  something 
interesting,  only  don't  give  me  another  moral  lecture." 

"  I  don't  think  of  anything  particularly  brilliant," 
replied  Theodora;  "  we  exhausted  the  '  hop  '  last  night." 

"  Didn't  Mrs.  Stoughton  look  lovely?"  asked  Kate. 
11 1  think  she  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  fascinating  lit- 
tle women  I  ever  met  in  my  life.  She  must  be  at 
least  ten  years  older  than  I  am,  and  she  looks  even 
younger;  blondes  always  do  wear  well." 

"  When  are  she  and  Mr.  Schleifdorf  to  be  mar- 
ried ?" 

"  Married  !  "  exclaimed  Kate,  speaking  for  the  first 
time  with  some  energy;  "why,  she  is  married  already." 

"  I  know  that,"  replied  Theodora,  "  but  what  is  to  pre- 
vent her  marrying  again?  " 

"  Well,  you  may  be  in  your  right  mind,"  said  Kate, 
raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  "  but  I  should  say  that  Mr. 
Stoughton  was  a  decided  objection." 

"  Mr.  Stoughton  !  Why,  I  didn't  know  there  was  such 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  97 

a  person ;   I  thought  she  was  a  widow.     But  why  doesn't 
she  live  with  her  husband?" 

"  They  do  live  together,  only  he  doesn't  like  Scranton, 
I  believe  ;   or  she  likes  it  better  without  him,  so  he  stays 
in  the  city.     But  what  made  you  think  she  was  a  wid 
ow?" 

"  Because  Mr.  Schliesdorf  is  so  devoted  to  her  ;  of 
course  he  is  some  relation  of  the  family." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  the  slightest  in  the  world,  —  that's  been 
going  on  for  over  a  year." 

"I  think  it's  perfectly  outrageous  !  "  cried  Theodora, 
in  righteous  indignation  ;  "why,  I  never  go  anywhere 
that  I  don't  see  them  together.  If  I  go  to  ride  I  am  sure 
to  meet  her  riding  with  him  ;  if  I  walk  on  the  beach,  I 
always  stumble  into  them  seated  among  the  rocks  in  the 
most  lover-like  manner.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing ;  I 
always  thought  she  was  very  nice." 

u  And  so  she  is,"  replied  Kate ;  "  perhaps  a  trifle  im- 
prudent, but  nothing  more." 

"  A  trifle  imprudent!  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  in  tones 
of  the  deepest  indignation.  "  I  don't  believe  any  respect- 
able married  woman  wouldvdlow  any  man  to  be  so  atten- 
tive to  her  as  Mr.  Schliesdorf  is  to  Mrs.  Stoughton.  I 
shall  never  speak  to  her  again,  never!  " 

"You  unsophisticated  creature!"  laughed  Kate, 
"  Why,  my  dear  child,  it  is  decidedly  the  fashion  for 
young  married  ladies  to  have  some  gentleman  who  is  per- 
fectly devoted  to  them  wherever  they  go.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  bachelor,  and  sometimes  he's  the  husband  of  one 
of  her  own  friends.  I  assure  you  it's  very  common  I 
went  out  of  town  in  the  steam-cars  one  day.  and  sat  very 
near  a  gentleman  who  was  playing  the  devoted  to  another 
man's -wife,  and  I  was  very  much  entertained  watching 
them.  She  behaved  as  if  she  were  a  little  coquette  of 
sixteen  ;  but  despite  the  fascinating  glances  and  very  low, 


98  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

even  lover-like  tones,  I  could  easily  see  that  each  knew 
the  other  was  getting  up  the  appearance  of  a  sentiment 
which  neither  of  them  really  felt.  Oh,  yes,  Theodora, 
if  you  were  to  spend  one  winter,  even  in  proper,  dignified 
Boston,  and  go  about  in  fashionable  society,  you  would 
find  that  such  flirtations  were  considered  quite  '  the 
thing.'  " 

"  '  The  thing,'  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  in  the  most  scorn- 
ful tone  imaginable;  "I'm  glad  I'm  not  in  fashionable 
society ;  if  it  has  succeeded  in  making  you  look  upon 
such  disgraceful  proceedings  as  a  matter  of  course,  it 
wouldn't  suit  me  at  all." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Kate,  for  Theodora 
was  hurriedly  putting  on  her  romping  dress;  "the  sun 
is  hot  enough  to  scorch  you;  you'll  be  black  as  an  In- 
dian to-night." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  am,"  replied  Theodora,  twitching 
on  her  hat  with  such  energy  that  she  snapped  the  elastic 
and  had  to  stop  and  fasten  it  with  a  pin ;  "  I  don't  care 
if  I  burn  to  a  cinder.  I'm  decidedly  roused,  and  I  be- 
lieve a  long  run  on  the  beach  in  this  fresh  wind  will  do 
me  good." 

"  But  you're  not  going  out  with  your  hair  down  your 
back  that  way;  you  look  like  a  little  girl." 

"  I  don't  pare  what  I  look  like.  I  want  to  get  off 
where  I  can  breathe  freely  ;  besides,  there  is  no  danger 
of  my  meeting  any  one  at  this  hour  of  the  afternoon, 
unless  it  is  the  'solitary  horseman.' ' 

"  But  you  wouldn't  care  to  meet  him  with  your  hair 
flying  about  that  way.  Honestly,  Theodora,  I  wouldn't 
do  it ;  it's  dreadfully  becoming,  but  it's  not  '  the  thing  ' 
at  all." 

"  Don't  tell  me  what's  '  the  thing,'  "  exclaimed  Theo- 
dora, turning  back  as  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 
"I've  learned  by  experience  that  that  means  to  do  what- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  99 

ever  you  secretly  think  isn't  womanly  or  respectable,  and 
not  to  do  anything  that's  natural  and  harmless.  I'm 
tired  to  death  of  the  sound  of  the  words,  and  now  I  am 
going  to  do  as  I  please,  and  all  Scranton  may  turn  up 
their  noses  and  be  horrified  if  they  choose." 

Kate  threw  herself  back  on  the  pillow  and  laughed 
quietly  as  Theodora  flew  downstairs ;  but  somehow  the 
laugh  turned  into  a  sigh,  as  she  said  to  herself,  "Oh, 
well,  she  might  as  well  think  I  approve  of  such  things, 
for  if  I  marry  Frank  Dale  who  knows  what  I  inay  be 
driven  to  myself." 


100  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AN     ADVENTURE. 

OUT  intD  the  bright  sunshine  ran  Theodora,  looking, 
as  Kate  had  said,  like  a  little  girl,  in  her  romping  suit, 
•which  consisted  of  a  bright  scarlet  sailor-shirt  and  petti- 
coat of  the  same  color,  with  a  gray  over-dress.  Her 
beautiful  hair  hung  in  great,  waving,  curling  masses  be- 
low her  waist,  surmounted  by  her  sailor  hat.  But  she 
•was  not  thinking  of  her  appearance ;  she  was  thoroughly 
excited  and  indignant,  not  so  much  by  the  mere  fact 
that  such  intimacies  as  those  to  which  Kate  alluded  were 
countenanced  by  society,  but  that  her  dear  cousin,  whom 
she  loved  with  her  whole  heart,  should  look  upon  such 
behavior  as  something  at  which  one  shrugs  the  shoulders 
and  takes  as  a  matter  of  course. 

She  ran  on,  not  stopping  until  she  reached  the  beach ; 
she  did  not  meet  .any  one  on  her  way  ;  if  she  gave  a 
thought  to  the  fact  it  was  one  of  regret,  for  she  was  in  a 
mood  when  nothing  would  have  suited  her  better  than  to 
meet  a  party  of  her  most  fashionable  acquaintances,  and 
thoroughly  shock  them  by  her  decidedly  unconventional 
appearance. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  stood  facing  the 
sea,  the  wind  blowing  her  hair  about  in  every  direction, 
"  I  remember  what  Mr.  Lee  said  about  my  taking  that 
run  on  the  beach  with  Harry  Dalton ;  that  was  '  making 
myself  conspicuous  ;  '  but  it  was  being  conspicuous  in  a 
perfectly  natural,  harmless  way,  and  I  was  entirely  un- 


THE   HARTWELL    FARM.  101 

conscious  of  it.  It  is  very  shocking  for  me,  a  girl  of 
nineteen,  to  run  on  the  beach  ;  it's  not  '  the  thing '  for 
me  to  be  here  now  with  my  hair  down ;  people 
would  raise  their  eyebrows  and  look  politely  sur- 
prised if  they  should  see  me,  I  suppose ;  but  they 
wouldn't  be  at  all  shocked  if  they  were  to  meet  Mr. 
Schliesdorf  making  love  to  Mrs.  Stoughton,  and  she  a  mar- 
ried woman  with  little  children  of  her  own  !  Oh,  no,  that's 
'  the  thing .'  I  wonder  what  mother  would  say  to  that  ?  " 
Theodora  seated  herself  on  a  solitary  rock  near  by, 
and,  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand,  gave  herself  up  to  a 
reverie,  and  there  she  remained,  scarcely  stirring  for  at 
least  half  an  hour,  her  great  eyes,  that  were  usually  full 
of  fun  and  laughter,  looking  straight  before  her,  with  a 
strangely  troubled  expression  in  their  gray  depths  ;  her 
lips,  that  almost  always  wore  such  a  mirthful  expression, 
tightly  pressed  together,  while  the  little  dimples  that  gener- 
ally danced  about  their  corners  had  hidden  themselves  quite 
out  of  sight.  If  one  of  her  numerous  admirers  had  seen 
her  then,  he  would  have  wondered  what  had  changed  the 
bright,  sunny-faced  girl  who  had  bewitched  him  by 
her  fresh,  piquante  beauty,  and  frank,  impetuous  manner, 
into  such  a  serious  little  woman.  The  thought  of  her 
mother  had  taken  her  back  to  the  dear  old  farm  and  the 
happy  country  life  she  led  there,  —  a  life  which,  after 
she  had  been  at  Scranton  a  few  weeks,  had  seemed,  by 
force  of  contrast,  decidedly  insipid ;  but  her  recent  con- 
versation with  Kate,  combined  with  sundry  secret  little 
misgivings,  which  had  been  roused  by  the  motherly  warn- 
ings in  her  frequent  letters  from  home,  had  led  her  to 
look  upon  her  present  existence  in  an  entirely  different 
light.  She  had  enjoyed  herself  thoroughly,  and  felt 
there  was  much  that  she  should  enjoy  so  long  as  she  re- 
mained at  Scranton;  but  her  eyes  had  been  suddenly 
opened  to  many  of  the  evils  of  society,  and  as  yet  she  was 


102  *THE    IIVRTWELL   FARM. 

not  able  to  separate  the  chaff  from  the  wheat.  For  the 
moment,  she  was  inclined  to  think  that  all  the  women  she 
had  met  must  be  like  Mrs.  Stoughton,  and  all  the  men 
like  Mr.  Schliesdorf  or  Mr.  Dale.  She  almost  convinced 
herself  that  there  could  not  be  anything  good  in  a  society 
where  so  much  evil  was  allowed  to  openly  exist.  She 
began  to  wonder  if  she  were  not  falling  into  some  of  the 
"  ways  of  the  world  "  herself;  if  she  had  not  encouraged 
the  attentions  of  some  men  of  whose  moral  characters  she 
could  not  help  entertaining  decided  and  well-grounded 
doubts  ;  in  short,  she  was  getting  very  morbid  and  misan- 
thropical, when  she  suddenly  exclaimed  aloud  :  — 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  shall  sit  here  until  I  get  bluer  than  in- 
digo !  My  thoughts  are  all  in  a  muddle.  I'll  have  a 
good  climb  on  the  rocks,  and  then  perhaps  I  shall  feel 
better." 

Beyond  the  place  known  as  "the  ledge"  was  a  high 
cliff,  which  Theodora  had  always  threatened  to  climb,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  it  was  generally  considered  quite 
a  dangerous,  in  fact,  almost  impossible,  ascent  for  a 
woman  to  attempt  to  scale,  and  towards  these  rocks 
she  now  bent  her  steps,  determined  on  going  to  their 
very  summit.  Fortunately  she  was  a  good  climber, 
perfectly  fearless,  and  free  from  all  sense  of  dizziness 
even  when  at  a  great  height;  and  as  she  was  unimpeded 
by  any  superfluous  skirts,  she  proceeded  to  mount,  not 
without  some  difficulty,  but  still  rapidly  going  higher  and 
higher,  feeling  a  fresh  elation  every  time  she  stopped  and 
looked  about  her. 

The  view  grew  grander  at  every  step.  The  exercise 
and  excitement  of  climbing  had  entirely  cleared  her  mind 
of  all  unpleasant  reflections.  On  and  on  she  went,  and 
did  not  stop  for  a  final  rest  until  she  reached  the  highest 
point  that  afforded  standing-room,  when  she  leaned  against 
a  great  rock  which  formed  the  very  topmost  peak  of  the 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  103 

cliff,  and  felt,  as  every  one  feels  after  accomplishing  a 
daring  feat,  excited  and  triumphant.  As  she  stood  rest- 
ing after  her  exertions  and  wishing  there  was  some  one 
there  to  applaud  her  success,  she  heard  somebody  sing- 
ing in  a  low,  deep  voice,  as  if  to  themselves.  The  sound 
seemed  to  come  almost  beneath  her  feet,  and  she  looked 
about  her  in  astonishment,  wondering  who  the  solitary 
singer  could  be.  As  she  listened  she  became  convinced 
that  the  person  must  be  below  her,  on  the  side  of  the 
cliff  facing  the  sea.  She  rested  her  hand  oti  the  rock  in 
front  of  her,  and  leaning  forward,  at  the  risk  of  breaking 
her  neck,  discovered  a  man  extended  on  the  ground  at 
full  length,  his  back  towards  her,  as  he  lay  looking  at 
the  sea,  singing  to  himself.  Theodora  thought  that  there 
was  something  in  his  figure  that  looked  very  familiar, 
and  she  stretched  her  neck  farther  yet,  hoping  to  get  a 
nearer  view  of  his  face,  when  the  elastic  of  her  hat,  which 
she  had  only  half  pinned  in  her  excitement,  suddenly 
gave  way ;  off  went  her  hat,  fluttered  for  a  moment  in 
the  air,  then,  in  a  lull  of  the  wind,  swooped  down  and 
landed  directly  on  the  head  of  the  unconscious  singer, 
who  sprang  to  his  feet  in  amazement  as  it  touched  his 
forehead. 

Theodora  drew  back,  laughing  so  heartily  that  she  was 
obliged  to  lean  against  the  rock  to  support  herself,  which 
of  course  completely  hid  her  from  the  gentleman  below. 
As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  herself  she  again  leaned  for- 
ward. The  gentleman  now  stood  with  her  hat  in  his  hand, 
looking  about  him  in  bewilderment.  "  It  is  the  '  solitary 
horseman,'  as  I  live!  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  under  her 
breath, —  k'G.  P.  R.  James  himself.  What  an  adven- 
ture !  "  Suddenly  the  stranger  caught  sight  of  her  head, 
as  it  appeared  over  the  rock,  with  her  hair  falling  all 
about  it,  and  her  eyes  dancing  with  fun  and  laughter. 


104  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  thought  she  had  flown  from 
the  skies,  then  called  out,  "  Are  you  alone?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Theodora;  ''please  keep  my  hat 
until  I  get  down  there." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  the  gentleman  replied,  in  a 
tone  of  authority,  at  the  same  time  springing  from  his 
cave-like  retreat.  "You  are  a  crazy  child  to  be  up 
there ;  don't  move  until  I  come  to  you." 

"  What  does  the  man  take  me  for,  I  should  like  to 
know?"  said  Theodora,  indignantly,  as  the  gentleman 
disappeared  round  a  great  boulder.  "A  little  girl,  I  really 
believe;  well,  he'll  soon  find  out  he's  very  much  mis- 
taken." 

She  turned  to  go  down  the  cliff;  but  she  found,  to  her 
no  small  chagrin,  that  it  was  much  easier  work  ascending 
than  descending.  The  rocks,  as  she  looked  down  from 
them,  seemed  twice  as  high  and  steep  as  they  really 
were,  and  she  expected  to  fall  every  minute;  but  she 
persisted  in  making  the  attempt,  until  suddenly  the  stran- 
ger again  appeared  below,  and  called  to  her,  "  Don't 
move ;  you  will  break  your  neck.  I  shall  be  there  in  a 
moment  to  help  you  down." 

"  I  can  go  down  as  I  came  up,"  replied  Theodora, 
shortly,  —  "  and  that  was  alone." 

"  What  an  obstinate  little  girl  you  are  !  "  cried  the 
stranger,  in  a  tone,  half  of  amusement,  half  of  vexation  ; 
"  it's  not  a  very  easy  thing  for  me  to  climb  down  this 
cliff,  much  less  for  you.  Be  quiet.  I  insist  !  " 

But  Theodora  would  not  keep  quiet ;  she  hurried  on, 
although  she  was  really  frightened,  and  clutched  at  the 
rocks  so  violently,  as  she  sprang  from  one  to  the  other, 
that  she  almost  tore  the  flesh  from  her  hands.  Just  as 
the  stranger  reached  her  she  stepped  on  a  rolling  stone, 
and  would  certainly  have  fallen  headlong  if  he  had  not 
caught  her. 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  105 

11  Did  you  hurt  yourself?  "  he  asked,  as  she  twitched 
her  hand  away  from  him. 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  she  answered,  very  ungraciously. 
"  I'll  thank  you  for  my  hat." 

<;It's  lucky  for  you  that  it  blew  off,"  remarked  the 
gentleman,  as  he  handed  it  to  her ;  "  for  if  it  had  not,  I 
should  not  have  known  you  were  here." 

"  I  can  get  along  very  well  without  your  assistance, 
sir,"  replied  Theodora,  as  she  attempted  to  pass  him  and 
continue  her  really  dangerous  course ;  but  before  she  was 
aware  of  his  intentions  he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
was  springing  with  her  down  the  cliff. 

Resistance  was  worse  than  useless  ;  indeed,  she  was  so 
angry  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  and  so  extremely 
frightened,  that  she  could  not  have  spoken  a  word  if  she 
had  so  desired.  As  he  sprang  with  her  from  one  rock  to 
another,  across  what  now  seemed  yawning  chasms,  she 
fully  expected  they  would  both  be  dashed  to  pieces,  and 
shut  her  eyes  only  to  open  them  in  a  few  moments,  as  he 
set  her  safely  on  her  feet  on  the  beach.  But  gratitude 
was  the  last  emotion  which  overcame  her,  for  her  first 
words  were,  "  Sir,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself ; 
never  in  my  life  did  I  —  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  child,"  he  interrupted  her,  with  the 
utmost  composure,  all  the  more  irritating  as  it  was  evi- 
dently not  at  all  assumed  ;  "  but  run  home  as  fast  as  you 
can,  and  another  time  don't  go  out  on  those  rocks  with- 
out a  responsible  person  to  look  after  you." 

Theodora  gave  him  a  withering  look,  and  turned  away 
with  an  air  of  intense  dignity,  but  with  decidedly  sheep- 
ish feelings,  for  she  was  perfectly  confident  that  he  stood 
laughing  at  her  all  the  time. 

"  He  really  did  think  I  was  a  little  girl,"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  hurried  on.  "  So  much  for  being  short,  and  going 


106  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

out  with  my  hair  down  ;  it  just  serves  me  right.  I  won- 
der if  I  shall  ever  learn  wisdom  by  experience  !  Won't 
Kate  laugh  at  me,  when  I  tell  her  that  I  actually  did 
meet  the  '  solitary  horseman,'  and  in  such  a  plight !  '" 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  107 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SAD    NEWS. 

"  WELL,  Theodora,  you  certainly  exceed  any  one  I 
ever  saw  for  having  remarkable  adventures,"  cried  Kate, 
who  had  been  convulsed  with  laughter  over  Theodora's 
account  of  her  encounter  with  the  "solitary  horseman." 
"  I  only  wish  I  had  been  there  to  see  the  whole  thing  from 
beginning  to  end." 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  laughed  Theodora  ;  "  for  now  that 
my  anger  has  cooled  off  I  can  see  how  perfectly  ludicrous 
the  whole  affair  was.  Of  course  he  thought  I  was  a  lit- 
tle girl,  about  ten  or  twelve  years  old  ;  my  face  is  a  baby's 
face  any  way,  and  with  my  short  dress,  and  hair  down 
my  back,  it  was  no  wonder  he  made  the  mistake.  How 
perfectly  absurd  my  dignified  airs  must  have  seemed  to 
him  !  I  know  I  shall  turn  the  color  of  a  peony  if  I  ever 
meet  him  again." 

"But  tell  me  what  he  is  like,"  said  Kate.  "Is  he 
handsome?  " 

"  Positively  I  don't  know,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I  know 
he  is  tall,  and  has  a  good  figure,  — we  knew  that  before  ; 
but  my  chief  impression  was  that  of  a  man  who  generally 
had  his  own  way.  I  know  he  has  a  light  mustache,  but 
whether  he  is  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty,  I  couldn't  say,  to  save 
my  life.  I  was  so  excited  that  I  didn't  stop  to  study  his 
face,  although  I  should  know  it  among  a  thousand." 

"  Then  you  must  be  able  to  give  me  some  idea  of  his 
looks,"  persisted  Kate.  "  Has  he  a  good  nose?  " 


108  THE    HAB.TWELL    FARM. 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  of  that;  it  was  not  a  pug  certainly 
But  my  idea  of  his  face  was  not  so  much  that  it  wa& 
handsome,  but  very  firm  and  decided.  I  found  him  so, 
at  any  rate." 

"I  should  say  you  did,"  replied  Kate;  "but  we 
ought  to  be  dressing  ourselves;  it's  almost  eight,  and  you 
know  Mrs.  Drayton  expressly  asked  us  not  to  be  fashion- 
able. What  are  you  going  to  wear?  " 

"Oh,  either  my  white  muslin  plain,  or  the  over-dress 
with  my  blue  silk.  I  never  have  to  remain  in  doubt 
long;  that's  one  comfort  in  having  a  small  wardrobe." 

"  Why  not  wear  the  entire  white  dress  over  the  blue 
silk  to-night  ?  That  will  be  a  little  different,  and  I'll  lend 
you  my  black  velvets  and  marguerites.  That  will  be 
lovely." 

"  Thank  you  ever  so  much,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I'll 
wear  them  with  pleasure.  What  shall  you  wear  your- 
self?" 

11  I'm  undecided  between  two  extremes  ;  either  my  black 
lace  or  my  white." 

"The  white,  by  all  means;  you  are  too  young  to 
wear  black  to  evening  parties,  particularly  in  summer. 
Wear  the  white,  with  a  wreath  of  scarlet  geraniums,  and 
your  dress  looped  up  with  them." 

"  Where  am  I  to  get  such  a  wreath,  I  should  like  to 
know?  "  asked  Kate,  as  she  brushed  out  her  long  black 
hair. 

"  I  mean  natural  ones,  of  course.  I'll  slip  out  the 
back  way  and  pick  them,  and  make  you  a  wreath  in  a 
twinkle;"  and  Theodora  threw  on  her  wrapper  and  ran 
downstairs  for  the  flowers. 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards,  as  Theodora  floated  round 
the  drawing-room  at  Rockhaveri,  her  feet  keeping  time  to 
the  inspiring  strains  of  a  Strauss  waltz,  all  such  unpleas- 
ant reflections  as  disturbed  her  peace  of  mind  that  after- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  109 

noon  seemed  to  have  entirely  disappeared.  Indeed,  to 
have  seen  her  then  no  one  would  have  thought  that  such 
a  bright,  joyous  young  creature  ever  could  look  at  the 
world  through  anything  but  "  rose-colored  spectacles." 
She  was  in  one  of  those  moods  when  everytiiing  seemed 
to  strike  her  as  more  delightful  than  ever  before.  The 
music  never  seemed  so  fascinating;  motion  seemed  invol- 
untary when  accompanied  by  that  swaying,  surging  mel- 
ody, so  peculiar  to  German  waltzes.  Every  one  seemed 
to  her  to  be  particularly  gay  and  happy,  and  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  unconscious  that 
over  her  head  hung  a  cloud  which  was  fast  closing  round 
her  to  shut  out  the  brightest  light  that  shone  upon  the 
pathway  of  her  young  life. 

As  she  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing-room  between 
two  gentlemen,  laughingly  assigning  to  each  an  absurd 
appellation  for  one  of  the  figures  in  the  German,  her  eyes 
suddenly  turned  towards  the  hall-door,  where  several  of 
the  older  people  stood  looking  in  at  the  dancers.  Behind 
them,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  evidently  having  just  en- 
tered the  house,  stood  her  uncle.  As  her  eye  met  his,  he 
beckoned  her  to  him.  Instantly  every  particle  of  color 
left  her  face,  and,  hastily  asking  the  gentlemen  to  excuse 
her,  she  instantly  left  the  room.  Not  looking  at  the 
wondering  faces  of  those  who  made  way  for  her  to  pass, 
she  walked  directly  to  her  uncle,  laid  her  hand  on  hia 
arm,  and  before  he  could  speak  said,  in  a  scarce  audible 
whisper,  "  Mother  !  " 

"Yes,  dear,  don't  be  frightened,"  taking  her  hands  in 
his,  for  she  was  so  terribly  white  he  thought  she  was 
going  to  faint;  "one  of  her  old  attacks.  I  have  had  a 
telegram  ;  the  doctor  thinks  that  all  danger  is  past,  but 
your  father  thinks  you  had  better  go  home." 

"  Yes,  don't  call  Kate  ;  there  is  no  need.  I  shall  not 
want  any  one."  Then,  turning  to  Dr.  Drayton,  who  had 


110  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

at  that  moment  entered  the  hall  from  the  card-room  oppo- 
site, "  Don't  say  anything  about  it,  please,  to  your  wife 
just  now,  —  she  is  dancing ;  but  tell  her  by  and  by  that 
I  have  had  bad  news  from  home;  my  mother  —  " 

There  she  stopped,  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  quickly, 
then  motioning  to  her  uncle  to  tell  the  doctor,  she  ran 
upstairs  for  her  wrappings.  In  an  instant  she  was  down 
again,  and  thanking  the  doctor  by  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand  for  his  kind  offers  of  assistance,  left  the  house  with 
her  uncle  so  quietly  that  her  departure  was  unnoticed 
except  by  the  few  who  had  seen  her  face  as  she  so  sud- 
denly left  the  drawing-room,  and  they  had  thoughtfully 
refrained  from  intruding  themselves  upon  her  when  they 
learned  from  Dr.  Drayton  the  cause  of  her  sudden  dis- 
appearance. 

'•  Now  tell  me  everything,"  said  Theodora,  as  the  door 
closed  after  them ;  ' '  have  you  kept  anything  from 
me?" 

"Nothing,  dear,  nothing  at  all,"  replied  her  uncle, 
in  a  cheerful  voice ;  "  I  wouldn't  have  frightened  you  by 
going  for  you  if  I  had  not  felt  sure  you  would  want  to 
leave  in  the  early  train,  and  you'll  need  all  the  sleep  you 
can  get.  Don't  spend  the  night  packing;  get  together 
what  you  will  absolutely  need,  and  Mrs.  Brown  will  send 
the  rest  after  you.  But  what  made  you  think  it  was 
your  mother,  dear ;  had  she  written  you  that  she  was  not 
well?  I  fancied  that  this  was  something  very  sudden." 

"It  must  have  been,"  answered  Theodora,  her  trem- 
bling voice  betraying  that  her  composure  was  only  forced  ; 
"  but  still  I  knew  the  moment  I  saw  your  face  that  you 
had  bad  news  about  her.  It  is  ever  so  long  since  she  has 
had  one  of  these  attacks,  but  the  doctor  said  she  was  lia- 
ble to  have  another  any  time,  and  I  have  always  dreaded 
it.  She  has  been  remarkably  well  all  summer,  and  I 
know  this  must  have  been  unusually  sudden  and  severe, 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  Ill 

for  she  promised  me  faithfully  that  if  anything  were  the 
matter  she  would  have  father  write  at  once  ;  but  she  never 
would  have  allowed  him  to  telegraph  unless  she  thought 
she —  "  Theodora's  voice  failed  her,  and  she  sobbed  un- 
controllably. 

"  Don't,  dear,"  said  her  uncle,  in  his  comforting  way. 
"  I  really  think  you  are  more  alarmed  than  you  need  be. 
I  know  there  is  always  something  dreadful  about  a  tele- 
gram ;  but  if  your  mother  were  at  all  ill,  not  to  say  dan- 
gerously so,  she  would  naturally  want  you  there  to  take 
care  of  her,  and  the  sooner  the  better,  and  so  of  course 
your  father  telegraphed,  as  being  the  quickest  and  surest 
way  of  bringing  you." 

"  But,  0  uncle,  if  I  had  not  come  here  at  all  then  I 
should  have  been  with  her  now.  What  if  I  should  be  too 
late?" 

"  But  you  won't,  Theodora.  I  feel  sure  you  won't. 
Now,  dear,  show  that  you  have  some  of  your  mother's 
fine  qualities  and  don't  allow  your  imagination  to  conjure 
up  unreal  fears.  Here  we  are  at  home.  Mrs.  Brown  is 
up  to  help  you  with  your  packing ;  but  go  to  bed  as  soon 
as  you  can,  and  I  will  call  you  in  good  season.  I  am 
going  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  uncle,  you  are  so  kind,  and  do  me  ever 
so  much  good,"  replied  Theodora,  as  she  kissed  him  good- 
night. "  I  will  go  to  bed,  and  I'll  try  to  sleep,  for  I  may 
need  all  my  strength  when  I  get  home." 

"That's  my  own  sensible  niece,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
giving  her  a  hearty  kiss.  "  Don't  get  up  until  I  call  you, 
for  you  have  a  hard  day's  journey  before  you." 


112  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    CLOUD    FALLS. 

THEODORA  found  her  mother  much  better  than  she 
had  feared.  The  attack,  which  had  been  much  more 
severe  than  any  she  had  ever  experienced,  had  left  her 
so  weak  that  she  was  still  confined  to  her  bed ;  but  all 
apprehensions  of  an  immediate  return  of  the  spasms, 
which  resulted  from  an  enlargement  of  the  heart,  were 
entirely  allayed. 

Theodora  had  been  at  home  just  a  week,  and  had 
devoted  every  moment  to  her  mother ;  but  it  had  not 
been  nursing  which  fatigued  either  body  or  mind.  All 
that  Mrs.  Hartwell  required  was  perfect  rest  and  free- 
dom from  all  care,  and  Theodora  found  her  chief  delight 
in  reading  to  her  or  amusing  her  with  accounts  of  her 
visit.  She  seemed  to  have  gained  a  great  deal  of 
strength  within  the  last  two  or  three  days,  and  intended 
to  sit  up  for  the  first  time  that  afternoon.  Theodora 
had  taken  out  her  clothes  and  laid  them  ready  for  her, 
and  was  now  sitting  by  the  'open  window  indulging  in  a 
reverie  while  she  waited  for  her  mother  to  awake,  for  she 
had  been  asleep  for  some  time. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  the  latter  part  of  September, 
and  as  warm  as  many  an  August  day,  and  as  Theodora 
sat  looking  out  on  the  bright  landscape  before  her,  her 
thoughts  carried  her  back  to  Scranton.  It  was  evidently 
a  pleasant  reverie  in  which  she  was  indulging,  for  an 
amused  expression  played  over  her  face  and  more  than 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  113 

once  her  lips  parted  in  a  decided  smile.  She  was  think- 
ing of  one  and  another  of  the  amusing  incidents  that 
had  occurred  during  the  last  two  months ;  but  notwith- 
standing that  the  recollection  of  them  gave  her  so  much 
pleasure,  she  never  once  wished  herself  hack  at  Scran- 
ton.  Theodora  had  the  gift  of  adapting  herself  to  cir- 
cumstances; in  short,  wherever  she  was  she  fitted  in  and 
was  satisfied,  and,  now  that  she  once  more  found  herself 
quietly  settled  at  home,  she  assumed  her  usual  house- 
hold duties,  and  went  about  her  accustomed  work  with- 
out a  thought  of  regret  that  she  could  not  always  be  as 
delightfully  lazy  and  luxurious  as  she  had  been  for  two 
months.  She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  her 
mother's  voice,  and  was  instantly  by  her  bedside. 

"  Why,  mother,  darling,  what  a  nice  long  nap  you 
have  had!  Don't  you  feel  like  getting  up?"  she 
asked. 

"I  feel  rested,  dear,  but  I  don't  think,  after  all,  I'll 
get  up  to-day;  I'm  sorry  you  have  taken  my  clothes 
out.  but  perhaps  I  shall  feel  more  like  it  to-morrow." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  clothes,"  said  Theodora, 
fondly  stroking  her  mother's  hair;  "but  I  wish  you 
could  get  some  strength.  Don't  you  want  a  glass  of 
wine?" 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  I  think  I  will  have  a  very 
little;"  then,  as  she  lay  watching  Theodora  pour  out 
the  wine,  "  Where  is  Charity  ?  " 

11  She  has  gone  home  ;  she  was  very  sorry  not  to  say 
good-by  to  you,  but  Joe  had  the  horse  harnessed  to 
drive  Sarah  down  to  the  village  to  do  a  little  shopping, 
and  I  told  her  she  had  better  ride  with  them.  I  knew 
you  would  prefer  she  should  go  than  to  walk.  There, 
dear,  does  it  strengthen  you?"  putting  her  arm  around 
her  mother  and  supporting  her  while  she  sipped  a  few 
swallows  of  wine. 


114  THE    IIARTWELL   FARM. 

"Yes,  Dody,  that  will  do;  prop  me  up,  please. 
There,  that's  right.  Charity  is  a  good  old  soul ;  she 
came  here  as  soon  as  she  knew  I  was  ill,  and  has  been 
with  me  ever  since.  I  hope  she  will  come  and  see  me 
before  long." 

"She  certainly  will,"  replied  Theodora,  sitting  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  taking  one  of  her  mother's 
hands  between  both  of  hers  in  a  caressing  way.  "She 
is  good.  I  wanted  her  to  leave  when  I  came  ;  but  she 
insisted  on  staying,  and  she's  mended  everything  the 
boys  own.  She  actually  went  up  in  the  attic  and 
looked  over  their  winter  clothes,  for  she  said  you  ought 
not  to  be  bothered  with  them.  Wasn't  it  thoughtful  of 
her?" 

"  Just  what  I  might  have  expected,"  said  Mrs. 
Hartwell,  with  a  smile;  "she  is  one  of  the  largest- 
hearted  women  I  ever  knew." 

Theodora  assented,  and  Mrs.  Hartwell  closed  hei 
eyes  and  remained  quiet  for  some  time;  then  she  asked, 
somewhat  suddenly,  "  Where  is  your  father?  " 

"Gone  with  the  boys  on  a  naturalizing  expedition; 
so  there  is  no  knowing  when  they  will  be  home." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  again  closed  her  eyes,  but  she  seemed 
to  be  earnestly  thinking  about  something,  —  something 
which  evidently  troubled  her." 

"Mother,  do  you  want  anything?"  asked  Theodora, 
gently. 

"  Theodora,  my  darling,  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing, —  something  which  it  will  be  very  hard  for  me  to 
say,  and  harder  yet  for  you  to  hear ;  but  for  my  sake 
try  to  be  calm,  try  to  help  me.  for  we  may  not  be  free 
from  interruptions  again  for  a  long  while." 

Theodora  clasped  her  mother's  hand  closer  within  her 
own.  Her  heart  beat  violently,  then  seemed  to  stand 
still,  while  an  indescribable  feeling  of  faintness  went 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  115 

through  her  whole  frame.  What  her  fears  were  she 
could  not  have  defined;  but  her  mother's  manner  was 
so  serious  and  singular  that  she  knew  she  was  about  to 
hear  something  which  would  deeply  affect  her;  but  she 
controlled  herself,  and  striving  not  to  let  her  voice  be- 
tray the  apprehension  she  really  felt,  she  so  far  suc- 
ceeded as  to  say  in  a  clear,  but  low  voice  :  — 

"  I'll  try  to  be  quiet,  motherdy.  Is  it  about  your- 
self? " 

"Yes,  darling,  it  is, — be  calm,  my  darling,  for  my 
sake  be  calm,  — it  is  that  —  I  do  not  think  I  shall  live 
Ions:.  Don't  tremble  so,  dear;  try,  oh,  try  to  control 
yourself!  Drink  the  rest  of  that  wine.  There!  that 
will  strengthen  you ;  your  hands  are  icy  cold.  0  Theo- 
dora !  if  I  could  only  bear  it  for  you  !  But  I  think,  if 
you  knew  how  I  have  dreaded  and  dreaded  to  tell  you, 
you  would  do  your  best  to  calm  yourself,  for  there  is  so 
much  that  I  cannot  say  to  any  one  but  you,  —  to  you,  my 
oldest  child,  my  faithful,  devoted  daughter." 

"Mother,  wait!  wait  one  moment!  "  broke  in  Theo- 
dora, burying  her  head  in  her  hands  and  struggling  so 
hard  to  control  herself  that  the  veins  in  her  neck  and 
temples  stood  out  like  fine  cords;  "don't  speak  yet, 
don't;  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Theodora,  my  child,  my  darling,  lay  your  head 
down  here  beside  me,  —  so.  Now  remember  that  what 
I  say.  I  say  because  I  must ;  that  every  word  is  a  strug- 
gle for  me,  and  unless  you  promise  to  control  yourself 
I  shall  have  to  wait  until  some  other  time,  and  that  will 
only  be  making  it  doubly  hard  for  both  of  us." 

Theodora  hud  herself  down  beside  her  mother,  and, 
hiding  her  face  in  the  pillow,  remained  quiet  for  a  few 
minutes,  while  her  mother  gently  laid  her  arm  about  her, 
and  smoothed  the  hair  away  from  her  throbbing  temples. 
The  mute  tenderness  of  the  caress  overcame,  while  at  the 


116  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

same  time  it  soothed  her ;  for  the  first  time  since  her 
mother  had  spoken,  the  tears  began  to  flow,  and  for  a 
few  moments  she  wept  quietly,  uninterrupted  by  her 
mother,  who  still  passed  her  hand  gently  over  her  hair. 
Soon  Theodora  grew  calmer,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  as 
she  turned  and  softly  kissed  her  mother,  ' '  Now  tell  me 
all  you  wish ;  I  will  help  you  all  I  can." 

"  That  is  my  own  darling.  I  knew  that  for  my  sake 
you  would  control  yourself.  You  may  think  it  strange, 
dear,  that  I  should  tell  you,  rather  than  your  father,  but 
I  know  that  I  could  never  make  him  believe  that  there 
was  any  more  danger  now  than  there  has  been  for  years 
past.  The  doctor  has  said  that  I  may  not  have  another 
attack  for  months,  perhaps  years ;  but  no  one  can  tell 
how,  or  when,  death  may  come  in  a  disease  like  mine. 
Theodora,  my  constant  prayer  is,  that  I  may  die  quietly, 
and  not  in  one  of  those  agonies  of  pain,  when  it  seems  as 
if  my  heart  was  held  in  an  iron  hand  which  was  slowly 
closing  tighter  and  tighter  over  it.  But  we  will  not 
talk  of  that  now;  perhaps  I  shall  be  spared  that  suffering, 
and  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  the  duties  and  cares 
which  must  come  to  you.  My  poor  darling,  it  will  be  a 
heavy  load  for  such  young  shoulders  to  bear,  but  I 
know  the  needed  strength  will  be  given  you." 

"Mother,  dear,"  said  Theodora,  who  had  succeeded 
in  mastering  her  own  emotions  and  now  thought  only  of 
saving  her  mother  useless  agitation,  "  don't  think  so 
much  of  me ;  rest  a  while  ;  you  will  be  worn  out ;  you 
are  too  weak  to  talk  so  much.  See  how  quiet  I  have 
grown  :  wait  until  to-morrow  ;  I  promise  to  listen  calmly 
then."' 

"  Thank  you,  Dodydear."  (How  infinitely  sweet  and 
beautiful  sounded  the  odd  pet  name  when  spoken  in  such 
tender  tones  !)  "  I  don't  feel  so  weak  as  I  did.  The  thought 
of  what  I  had  to  say  to  you  took  all  my  strength  away. 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  117 

Now  that  you  know  the  worst,  I  should  feel  better  to  go 
on.  About  your  father,  dear  ;  Theodora,  a  kinder,  more 
affectionate,  truer-hearted  man  never  lived.  When  I 
married  him  many  wondered  that  I  should  have  chosen 
a  man  so  many  years  older  than  myself;  but  I  loved 
him  as  I  never  could  have  loved  a  younger  man.  I  say 
this  to  you  now,  so  that  if  ever,  when  you  hold  the  place 
of  mistress  of  this  house,  little  things  occur  to  try  your 
patience  in  any  way,  you  may  think  of  my  words.  Your 
father  has  a  great  many  peculiarities,  little  defects  which 
you  may  never  have  noticed,  Avhich  I  remember  in  our 
early  married  life  amused,  rather  than  annoyed,  me, 
simply  because  they  were  of  such  a  nature  that  they  did 
not  materially  affect  us,  or  our  condition,  so  long  as  we 
had  everything  in  the  world  to  do  with  ;  but  when  our 
reverses  came,  when  I  had  to  contrive  in  every  way  to 
make  both  ends  meet,  then  I  learned  for  the  first  time 
that  it  is  the  little  faults  we  don't  notice  or  think  much 
about  that  are  the  hardest  for  us  to  contend  with.  I 
had  a  quick  temper  then,  Dody.  and  I  know  that  when 
your  father's  procrastination,  or  his  ideal  way  of  looking 
at  things,  irritated  me,  I  spoke  hastily,  even  angrily  to 
him ;  but  never  once  did  I  receive  an  unkind  retort  from 
him.  No,  never  in  all  our  married  life  has  he  spoken  a 
hasty  or  harsh  word  to  me.  I  do  not  think  there  are 
many  wives  who  can  say  that.  Now,  darling,  don't  you 
see  what  I  want  you  to  guard  against?  I  cannot  tell 
you  in  what  way  your  patience  will  be  tried,  but  I  know 
it  will  be;  but  remember  that  your  father  is  growing 
old ;  that  he  has  had  carea  and  trials  enough  to  break 
down  any  man  who  had  not  such  a  naturally  cheerful, 
sweet  disposition ;  and  if  ever,  my  darling,  your  tongue 
is  inclined  to  be  rebellious,  think  of  this  little  talk  with 
me,  and  be  patient,  for  that  is  the  one  thing  needful. 
And  the  boys,  —  my  dear,  good  boys,  —  how  I  love  them  ! 


118  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

They  will  never  willingly  give  you  any  trouble;  besides, 
you  know  their  dispositions  as  well  as  I.  You  have 
always  been  a  good  sister.  I  have  no  fears  but  that  you 
will  be  a  mother  to  them  when  I  am  gone." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  ceased  stroking  Theodora's  hair,  and 
stretched  her  arm  over  her  in  a  closer  embrace.  Theo- 
dora was  about  to  speak,  when  her  mother  continued,  but 
in  a  different  tone,  more  as  if  she  were  talking  to  her- 
self: "  I  remember  so  well  the  first  day  I  came  to  Hart- 
well  Farm  ;  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  at  sunset,  just  about 
this  time.  How  lovely  everything  was  !  The  whole  place 
was  in  a  glow  with  the  golden  light ;  the  house  looked  as 
if  it  were  illuminated  ;  every  pane  reflected  the  sun's  rays. 
I  thought  then  that  that  was  the  happiest  day  of  my  life ; 
but  a  year  after,  when  I  sat  on  the  porch  with  my  baby, 
my  little  Theodora,  in  my  arms,  I  think  I  was  even  hap- 
pier." 

Her  voice  grew  fainter  ;  the  words  dragged  ;  Theodora 
thought  she  was  falling  asleep,  and  would  not  move  for 
fear  of  disturbing  her.  The  low,  sweet  voice  began 
again,  but  this  time  more  broken,  more  wandering  than 
before  :  "  We  were  so  happy.  Don't  you  remember  how 
you  laughed  at  me  that  day,  Richard  ?  Here,  dear,  don't 
you  see  her?  Take  her,  —  the  baby, — I'm  so  tired,  I 
think  I'll  go  to  sleep." 

"Mother!"  whispered  Theodora  softly,  "mother!" 
No  answer.  Gently  disengaging  herself  from  her  mother's 
close  embrace,  Theodora  rose  from  the  bed,  and  as  she  did 
so,  stooped  and  kissed  the  sweet  face  before  her. 

She  started  back  with  a  look  of  horror  in  her  eyes,  for 
the  lips  she  pressed  were  cold  and  still.  "Mother! 
mother  !  speak  to  me  !  answer  me  !  don't  you  hear  me  ? 
ion't  you  hear  your  own  Theodora?  "  But  no  response 
came  to  her  heart-rending  cry;  her  mother's  prayer  had 
been  answered ;  quietly,  without  a  struggle,  she  had  sunk 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  119 

into  a  painless  sleep  from  which  no  earthly  voice  could 
waken  her. 

Theodora  gazed  on  her  a  moment  in  agonized  silence ; 
she  felt  her  hands ;  she  took  them  in  her  own ;  she 
pressed  them  to  her  cheeks,  her  lips  ;  she  kissed  her 
once  again  ;  and  as  the  fearful  reality  dawned  upon  her, 
she  uttered  a  low  cry,  in  which  all  the  grief,  despair, 
and  pent-up  agony  of  her  heart  found  utterance,  and  fell 
senseless  beside  the  dead  body  of  her  mother. 


120  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

THEODORA  TAKES  UP  HER  BURDEN. 

GRADUALLY  animation  returned  to  Theodora's  sense- 
less frame.  She  lay  for  some  time  in  a  state  of  semi- 
consciousness,  faintly  hearing  the  rustling  of  the  curtains, 
as  they  were  swayed  gently  back  and  forth  in  the  breeze; 
the  chirping  of  a  cricket  near  the  window,  and  the  sing- 
ing of  the  birds  outside;  but  her  senses  were  not  fully 
restored ;  her  mind  had  not  roused  itself  sufficiently  to 
realize  anything  else;  but  suddenly  through  the  open 
window  came  her  father's  voice,  followed  by  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  the  boys.  That  sound  seemed  to  pierce  to 
her  brain.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  mind  now  fully 
alive  to  the  terrible  blow  which  had  fallen  upon  her,  the 
first  shock  of  which  had,  in  mercy,  left  it  a  blank-. 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  flooding  the  room 
•with  a  soft,  rosy  light.  Over  the  peaceful  face  of  the  dead 
mother  they  cast  their  mellow  radiance,  and  as  they  had 
shone  upon  her  on  that  day  of  her  early  wifehood  to 
which  her  thoughts  had  returned  in  their  last  moments, 
so  now  they  shone  full  upon  her  in  death,  touching  those 
still  features  with  such  life-like  color  that  it  seemed  as  if 
the  eyes  must  unclose,  the  lips  must  move  and  speak 
with  all  their  accustomed  tenderness. 

It  was  too  much  for  Theodora  to  bear ;  she  went  to 
the  window,  and  silently,  but  with  a  quick,  almost  fierce 
movement,  closed  the  blinds,  and  shut  out  the  sunlight, 
which  seemed  aa  if  it  were  mocking  her  with  its  bright- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  121 

ness  She  turned  again  to  the  bed,  and,  casting  herself  on 
her  knees,  bowed  her  head  in  prayer ;  her  lips  remained 
closed ;  no  sound  escaped  them ;  but  from  her  heart 
went  up  such  touching  cries  for  some  light  to  shine 
through  all  the  darkness  which  overwhelmed  her,  for 
strength,  not  only  to  bear  her  own  burden,  but  to  com- 
fort and  uphold  those  left  to  her  as  a  sacred  charge,  that 
the  spirit  of  her  mother,  as  it  wafted  its  way  towards 
heaven,  must  have  paused  in  its  flight  to  listen,  to  gather 
those  supplications  in  her  heart,  that  she  herself  might 
lay  them  at  the  foot  of  "  The  Great  White  Throne." 

Rising  from  her  knees,  Theodora  stood  for  a  few 
moments  and  gazed  silently,  with  tightly  clasped  hands, 
but  with  eyes  from  which  the  tears  refused  to  flow,  at  the 
quiet  face  before  her,  then  with  an  effort  tore  herself 
from  the  room.  As  she  softly  closed  the  door  behind  her, 
her  father  came  down  the  hall,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
small  bunch  of  bright  autumn  leaves  and  scarlet  ber- 
ries. 

"See,  Dody,"  he  said;  "aren't  they  beautiful? 
They  make  me  think  of  the  day  I  first  brought  your 
mother  to  Hartwell  Farm.  I  wonder  if  she  will  think 
of  it  too?" 

Theodora  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  door,  trembling 
in  every  limb  ;  how  could  she  break  the  terrible  news  to 
him  ?  Her  tongue  seemed  paralyzed.  Her  father  was 
busy  rearranging  the  leaves,  and  did  not  notice  her  silence  ; 
but  as  he  made  a  movement  to  pass  her  and  open  the  door, 
she  put  out  her  hand  and  prevented  him  ;  her  breath 
came  quick  and  short;  she  gasped  hoarsely,  "  Father  — 
wait ;  —  not  yet ;  not  yot  —  mother  is  — 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  her  father  had  turned 
sharply  and  looked  at  her ;  her  white  lips,  the  despair 
and  grief  in  her  eyes,  the  supplicating  gesture  of  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  she  still  guarded  the  door, 


122  THE    IIARTWELL   FARM. 

revealed  to  him  in  an  instant  all  that  her  lips  refused  to 
speak.  With  an  expression  on  his  face,  which  to  her 
dying  day  Theodora  will  never  forget,  he  laid  his  hand 
on  hers,  which  still  clasped  the  handle  of  the  door; 
gently  unclosing  her  fingers,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which 
seemed  as  if  it  came  from  another  world :  — 

"  My  child,  I  know;  it  has  come.  Let  me  go  to  her 
alone." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Theodora  leaned 
against  the  wall  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  heart. 
She  waited  for  some  time,  fearing  to  hear  some  sound 
from  within  the  room;  but  the  silence  was  awful.  What 
she  had  feared  she  now  almost  hoped  for  ;  a  sob,  a  groan, 
anything  rather  than  this  fearful  quiet;  yet  not  for 
worlds  would  she  have  intruded  on  the  sacredness  of  her 
father's  grief.  As  she  stood  thus  in  suspense,  she  heard 
the  boys  talking  in  excited  tones  downstairs,  evidently 
disputing  for  the  possession  of  some  treasure  found  dur- 
ing their  walk  ;  she  ran  down  instantly,  and,  before  they 
were  aware  of  her  entrance,  stood  in  their  midst. 

"  Boys,  boys,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  "for 
Heaven's  sake  don't  quarrel  now;  I  have  something 
dreadful  to  tell  you." 

Her  tone,  even  more  than  her  words,  awed  them  into 
silence ;  they  stood  and  looked  at  her  with  frightened 
faces.  Frank  was  the  first  to  speak  :  — 

"  What  is  it,  Theodora,  — is  mother  worse?  " 

"Not  worse,  we  musi  not  think  she  is  worse;  but,  0 
boys,  it  breaks  my  heart  to  tell  you ;  you  must  pre- 
pare yourselves  for  the  worst.  Ralph,  let  me  take  you 
in  my  lap,  — so, — it  helps  me.  Boys,  our  mother — is 
dead." 

It  was  over ;  the  terrible  task,  the  execution  of  which  of 
necessity  had  fallen  to  her  lot,  was  done.  The  boys  crowded 
round  her ;  they  clung  to  her  as  if  already  acknowledg- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  123 

ing  her  as  their  comforter  and  support ;  their  sobs  alone 
broke  the  silence.  Dick  leaned  against  her  chair  and 
threw  one  arm  over  her  shoulder,  bowing  his  head  until 
it  touched  hers.  Frank  knelt  on  the  floor  and  buried  his 
head  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  Ralph,  the  youngest, 
who  was  still  looked  upon  as  the  baby,  threw  his  arms 
around  her  neck,  sobbing,  "  0  Dody  !  Dody  !  what  shall 
we  do?  You'll  have  to  be  mother  now." 

At  his  words  the  tears,  which  had  hitherto  refused  to 
flow,  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  Theodora  wept  unre- 
strainedly. 

But  she  could  not  long  give  such  full  vent  to  her 
grief;  she  must  still  think  of  some  one  else ;  she  dared 
not  leave  her  father  any  longer.  She  explained  all  to 
the  boys,  and  they  allowed  her  to  leave  them ;  she  was 
gone  but  a  moment,  when  she  returned,  and,  taking  Ralph 
by  the  hand,  motioned  for  the  others  to  follow  her. 

They  entered  softly  the  room  they  had  so  often  rushed 
into  with  boyish,  headlong  haste ;  but  she  who  had  al- 
ways greeted  their  coming  with  a  smile  turned  not  at 
their  approach.  By  the  bedside,  with  bowed  head,  look- 
ing as  though  years  instead  of  moments  had  elapsed 
since  he  entered  that  chamber,  sat  their  father ;  one  of 
his  wife's  hands  he  held  clasped  in  his  own  ;  in  the  other 
he  had  placed  the  bunch  of  autumn  leaves. 

As  they  gathered  round  him,  he  raised  his  head, 
looked  at  them  for  a  moment  with  infinite  tenderness, 
then  said,  in  a  calm,  low  voice,  "My  children,  let  us 
pray." 


124  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

DARK   DAYS. 

SEVERAL  months  have  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Hartwell's 
death,  and  it  is  the  middle  of  winter,  when  we  again  find 
ourselves  at  Hartwell  Farm.  Theodora  has  taken  up 
all  the  household  duties  which  had  formerly  been  her 
mother's,  all  the  responsibilities,  and  the  numberless 
small  cares,  which  of  themselves  are  not  of  much  ac- 
count, but  which  go  far  towards  making  up  the  sum  of 
a  woman's  daily  existence.  It  was  no  light  burden 
which  had  fallen  upon  those  young  shoulders ;  she  bore 
it  cheerfully  and  well,  but  its  weight  was  beginning  to 
tell  upon  her;  she  was  much  thinner  than  in  the  sum- 
mer; her  bright  color  had  somewhat  faded,  and  when 
alone,  her  face  wore  an  anxious,  troubled  expression 
quite  foreign  to  its  former  brightness. 

No  wonder  that,  as  she  sat  by  herself  mending  the 
well-worn  clothes  of  the  family,  a  sigh  sometimes 
escaped  her,  and  the  work  dropped  from  her  hands  as 
she  leaned  her  head  upon  them  and  pondered  how  they 
were  ever  to  get  through  the  winter  with  their  fast  de- 
creasing means.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  be  eco- 
nomical in  her  own  expenditures,  and  her  wants  had 
always  been  few  and  easily  satisfied ;  her  mother  had 
always  explained  to  her  that  their  means  would  not 
admit  of  this  or  that  luxury,  and  she  had  accepted  the 
fact  without  any  great  feeling  of  regret  that  it  was  not 
otherwise ;  but  she  had  never  known,  never  imagined,  that 


A  TRUE  HEROINE. 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  125 

they  were  literally  poor.  She  realized  for  the  first  time 
how  her  mother  must  have  contrived  and  pinched  in 
every  way  to  allow  them  the  actual  comforts  of  life,  and 
at  the  same  time  make  both  ends  meet. 

Her  father  gave  her  money  from  time  to  time,  but  in 
very  small  amounts  ;  still  she  knew  it  was  all  he  had  to 
give,  but  she  could  not  make  him  understand  that  it  was 
not  enough  to  meet  their  daily  expenditures ;  it  paid  a 
bill  or  two,  but  not  half  they  owed.  It  was  like  half 
feeding  a  hungry  child;  one  knows  that  in  a  short 
time  it  will  cry  again,  when  there  will  be  nothing  to  give 
it.  Whenever  Theodora  tried  to  explain  matters  to  her 
father,  he  always  said,  in  his  gentle  way,  "  We  must 
retrench  ;  we  must  retrench  for  the  present ;  by  and  by 
the  '  peach  orchard  '  will  bring  us  out  all  right."  Poor 
Theodora !  as  if  she  had  not  already  retrenched  in  every 
possible  way ;  and  as  for  the  peach  orchard,  it  was  more 
a  source  of  anxiety  to  her  than  of  comfort,  for  her  father 
dwelt  upon  it  so  much  that  she  dared  not  think  what 
effect  its  failure  might  have  upon  him.  She  realized 
now  something  of  what  her  mother  had  implied  when 
she  had  spoken  of  her  father's  peculiarities  ;  she  learned 
daily  that  to  him  she  must  not  apply  for  any  practical 
aid  out  of  her  fast-increasing  difficulties ;  more  than 
once  she  had  been  half  inclined  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  his  want  of  forethought,  but  the  remembrance  of  her 
mother's  dying  words  chased  all  such  emotions  from  her 
heart,  if  they  had  not  been  already  dispersed  by  the  sight 
of  that  dear  father  himself.  Mr.  Hartwell  was  sadly 
changed ;  he  was,  if  anything,  more  quiet  and  abstracted 
than  ever,  but  it  was  not  the  same  kind  of  abstraction ; 
formerly,  when  indulging  in  a  reverie,  he  had  a  habit 
of  sitting  with  his  head  thrown  back ;  now  it  was  always 
drooped,  —  a  little  thing,  but  to  Theodora  it  told  much. 
She  knew  that  his  thoughts,  instead  of  wandering  among 


126  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

the  labyrinths  of  science,  were  dwelling  upon  her  dead 
mother,  and  the  one  aim  of  her  life,  the  prayer  of  her 
heart  was,  that  she  might  learn  to  fill  that  mother's 
place. 

Her  devotion  to  her  father  was  beautiful  to  see  ;  she 
never  forgot  or  omitted  one  of  the  many  little  affectionate 
attentions,  conducive  either  to  his  comfort  or  pleasure, 
which  she  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  her 
mother  lavish  upon  him ;  she  anticipated  all  his  wants, 
and  did  everything  for  him  in  such  an  unobtrusive  way 
that  he  never  so  much  realized  that  she  was  doing  it  as 
that  it  was  still  done. 

In  her  young  days  Mrs.  Hartwell  had  played  the 
piano  with  much  more  than  ordinary  skill,  and  she  had 
never  allowed  herself  to  entirely  desert  her  music  ;  she 
had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  playing  to  her  family 
every  evening.  From  her  Theodora  had  acquired  some 
knowledge  of  music,  at  least  sufficient  to  enable  her  to 
play  simple  airs,  which  pleased  her  father  and  the  boys ; 
and  notwithstanding  her  many  cares,  she  contrived  to 
practise  a  little  every  day,  studying  carefully  all  those 
pieces  which  had  been  the  especial  favorites  of  her  father 
and  mother.  It  was  with  trembling  hands  that  she  had 
first  touched  the  keys  after  her  mother's  death.  She 
had  pondered  in  her  own  mind,  whether  the  recollections 
which  the  sound  of  the  instrument  would  bring  up  would 
not  be  too  much  for  her  father  to  bear ;  whether  her 
playing  in  contrast  with  that  of  her  mother's,  even  the 
sight  of  her  in  her  mother's  place,  would  not  jar  upon 
him;  but  with  exquisite  tact  she  had  divined,  that  to  a 
man  of  his  age  and  peculiar  temperament  the  sudden 
breaking  up,  the  entire  withdrawal,  of  what  had  always 
been  to  him  a  source  of  great  happiness  would  affect  him 
more  deeply  than  its  continuance  under  different  circum- 
stances. As  I  have  said,  it  was  with  trembling  fingers 


THE    IIARTWELL    FARM. 


•127 


and  loudly  beating  heart  that  she  first  attempted  to  play 
to  her  father.  She  chose  one  of  the  simplest  of  Men- 
delssohn's "Songs  without  Words."  She  dared  not  look 
:it  her  father  as  he  sat  in  his  accustomed  seat  by  the 
fire,  but  played  on.  letting  her  heart  speak  through  her 
fingers.  As  the  last  chords  died  away,  her  father 
raised  his  head  and  said,  with  even  more  than  his  usual 
gentleness,  c'  Theodora,  you  have  your  mother's 
touch,  your  mother's  expression ;  in  time  you  will  have 
her  skill ;  my  child,  it  comforts  me."  No  need  to  say 
that  Theodora  redoubled  her  efforts  to  improve.  If  it  had 
not  have  been  for  many  such  proofs  that  she  was  a  com- 
fort and  help  to  her  father  and  brothers,  Theodora 
would  have  sometimes  grown  thoroughly  discouraged ; 
but  no  matter  how  tired  or  anxious  she  might  be,  if  they 
showed  that  she  was  necessary  to  them  in  any  way,  if 
they  bestowed  upon  her  the  little  caresses  or  endearing 
names  which  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  their 
mother,  she  felt  her  burden  grow  lighter,  arid  went  to 
work  with  renewed  vigor  to  smoothe  the  tangled  skein  of 
household  affairs.  She  was  trying  one  day  to  see  some 
way  out  of  their  many  difficulties  ;  wondering  how  she 
could  raise  some  money  before  the  day  when  the  small 
and  only  sure  dividend  which  Mr.  Hartwell  now  received 
should  fall  due,  when  suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that 
perhaps  her  father  would  be  willing  to  write  articles  ior 
some  of  the  leading  magazines  of  the  day.  The  idea 
seemed  to  her  such  a  bright  one,  so  thoroughly  practical 
and  feasible,  that  she  immediately  put  down  her  work 
and  went  into  the  library  where  Mr.  Hartwell  was  at  that 
moment  seated  at  his  desk. 

"Father,"  she  exclaimed  abruptly,  "didn't  you  use 
to  write  for  the  magazines?  " 

Her  father  looked  at  her  over  his  spectacles,  in  sur- 


128  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

prise.      "Write   for  the    magazines,   my  dear   child,  — 
what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  just  what  I  say;  didn't  you  ever  send  articles 
to  some  of  the  leading  magazines,  or  scientific  papers,  and 
get  paid  for  them  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  never;  several  articles  of  mine  have 
been  published,  but  I  never  received  any  money  for 
them." 

"  But  wouldn't  they  pay  you  ;  did  vou  do  it  for  noth- 
ing?" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear;  they  paid  for  them,  but  I 
never  accepted  anything  myself.  I  always  agreed  before- 
hand that  the  money  should  go  to  some  charitable  insti- 
tution, or  to  some  poor  scholar  struggling  against  pecuni- 
ary difficulties." 

"  But,  father,  that  was  when  you  were  rich,  when  you 
had  more  than  you  needed  to  spend  ;  now  of  course  you 
would  feel  differently." 

"  My  dear,  what  are  you  driving  at?"  with  a  slight 
tinge  of  annoyance  in  his  tone.  "  You  certainly  don't 
mean  to  say  that  you  think  that  at  my  age  I  am  going  to 
devote  myself  to  writing  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  dol- 
lars and  cents  it  might  bring  me  ?  " 

"  But  I  do  mean  it,"  persisted  Theodora,  earnestly, 
whose  pressing  need  made  her  urge  the  matter  much 
more  strongly  than  she  would  otherwise  thought  of  doing  ; 
"  why,  some  of  your  own  old  friends,  some  of  the  most 
talented  men,  the  greatest  thinkers  of  the  time,  think  it 
no  condescension  to  do  it;  they  support  their  families  by 
their  pens." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm  either  so 
vain  or  so  foolish  as  to  consider  it  would  be  condescension 
on  my  part  to  receive  money  for  anything  I  might  write. 
Far  from  it ;  it  is  simply  that  I  am  so  organized  that  I 
could  not  write  anything  if  I  knew  I  was  to  be  paid  for 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  129 

it ;  I  could  not  do  it.  There  would  be  no  ease,  no 
elegance,  no  force,  to  anything  I  wrote ;  ray  thoughts 
would  not  frame  themselves  into  intelligent  sentences  :  I 
could  not  disabuse  myself  of  the  idea  th  t  I  was  doing  so 
much  work  for  so  much  money  ;  it  would  be  drudgery  ; 
in  short,  being  paid  by  the  page  instead  of  by  the  day. 
No,  no,  Theodora,  don't  suggest  such  a  thing  again  ;  your 
mother  did  it  once,  but  I  convinced  her  that  it  was  en- 
tirely out  of  the  question.  I  am  afraid  you  are  growing 
mercenary,  Theodora.  But  run  away  now.  you  have 
interrupted  a  train  of  thought  that  I've  been  two  hours 
trying  to  get  into  comprehensible  form." 

And  Theodora  did  go  away  thoroughly  discouraged, 
and  a  trifle — yes,  we  must  confess  it  —  a  trifle  out  of 
patience  with  her  father.  Was  it  to  be  wondered  at  ? 
Was  it  strange  that  she  relapsed  into  one  of  those  melan- 
choly moods  with  which  we  are  all  of  us  more  or  less 
afflicted,  when  we  find  ourselves  taking  a  gloomy  satis- 
faction in  looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things  ?  Theodora 
was  not  a  solitary  exception  to  the  rule  of  human  nature, 
she  had  moments  of  being  very  blue  and  morbid  ;  then 
she  was  apt  to  let  her  thoughts  revert  to  herself  and 
think  that  the  fault  lay  there.  She  wished  that  she 
might  do  something  which  would  bring  money  into  the 
family  treasury  ;  she  despised  herself  for  not  being  able 
to  earn  any  ;  she  looked  upon  her  daily  life  of  patching 
and  darning,  turning  and  twisting,  planning  and  con- 
triving, as  something  immeasurably  small  and  insignifi- 
cant. She  had  be'en  darning  old  clothes  all  day  long,  — 
clothes  for  the  boys  that  once  she  would  not  have  con- 
sidered fit  to  be  worn  ;  it  was  anything  but  pleasant  work  : 
besides,  she  was  tired  ^bouily  as  well  as  mentally.  The  old 
longing  to  do  something  above  and  beyond  this  never- 
ending  round  of  household  drudgery,  the  work  which  she 
said  to  herself  any  unintelligent  servant-girl  could  do  as 


130  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

well  as  she,  stirred  again  in  her  heart.  Oh,  if  she  could 
only  strike  out  boldly  and  achieve  something  which 
should  be  the  means  of  dispelling  the  cloud  of  poverty 
and  debt  which  was  fast  settling  upon  Ilartwell  Farm  ! 
11  Then,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  perhaps  I  might  feel  that 
I  had  done  something  which  might  be  called  heroic." 
As  she  spoke  the  word,  it  recalled  vividly  to  her  mind 
the  scene  at  Scranton  alluded  to  in  one  of  the  early 
chapters  of  this  book.  She  saw  Mr.  Hudson  as  distinct- 
ly as  though  he  still  stood  before  her  ;  she  heard  his  kind 
voice  repeating,  "Go  back  to  your  quiet  home,  but 
always  carry  with  you  the  wish  to  do  something  heroic, 
1  for  the  glory  of  the  thing  itself,'  and  you  will  surely  find, 
as  every  one  finds  who  looks  at  life  as  something  given 
us  for  a  higher  purpose  than  for  mere  enjoyment,  that 
there  is  in  the  most  quiet  life  in  the  world  something  to 
do,  something  to  bear.  Do  whatever  your  hand  finds  to 
do  with  all  your  might,  bear  whatever  trial,  small  or 
great,  may  corne  to  you,  with  Christ-like  patience,  and 
who  shall  say  you  may  not  be  a  heroine?"  The 
anxious,  discontented  expression  vanished  from  her  face  ; 
for  the  first  time  she  realized  that  to  do,  to  bear,  to  suf- 
fer whatever  is  sent  to  us,  no  matter  in  what  homely 
form  it  may  appear,  has  in  it  the  elements  of  heroism. 
She  smiled  as  she  thought  of  her  own  words  spoken  with 
no  thought  of  how  soon  they  would  return  to  her, —  "  to 
do  something  grand,  not  for  the  fuss  and  talk  people 
would  make  about  her,  but  for  the  glory  of  the  thing 
itself."  Certainly  there  would  be  no  one  to  make  a  fusa 
about  her;  perhaps  there  was  little  glory  in  the  thing 
itself;  but  she  felt  in  an  undefined,  but  convincing  way, 
that  into  her  hands  had  been  placed  tools,  rough  and 
heavy  to  handle,  but  which,  if  she  used  them  rightly, 
would  carve  her  life  into  some  semblance  of  the  heroio 
one  of  which  she  had  dreamed. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  131 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    STORM. 

11  WHAT  paper  is  that  you  are  reading,  Theodora?" 

"  The  '  Boston  Journal '  of  March  3d.  Uncle  Temple 
sent  it  to  roe,  because  it  has  a  very  complimentary  notice 
of  a  book  written  by  a  friend  of  mine,  —  Mr.  Thurston 
Lee.  Would  you  like  to  see  it?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you."  replied  Mr.  Hartwell,  continuing 
hia  walk  up  and  down  the  long  sitting-room.  "  If  there 
is  anything  in  it  which  you  think  will  interest  me,  you 
may  mark  it,  and  I'll  read  it  by  and  by." 

"Father,"  began  Theodora,  holding  the  paper  so  as 
to  conceal  her  face,  then  stopping  suddenly  as  if  fearing 
or  dreading  to  continue. 

"Well,  Theodora,  what  is  it?  Don't  be  long,  for  I 
fear  there  is  a  storm  coming  up,  and  I  must  go  and  look 
after  the  peach-orchard." 

"  There  is  something  in  this  paper  which  I  think  may 
interest  you,"  said  Theodora,  speaking  hurriedly  and 
nervously  ;  "  it  is  an  advertisement  for  a  farm." 

"An  advertisement  for  a  farm?  Well,  my  child,  I 
am  afraid  you  are  laughing  at  me  behind  your  paper. 
One  farm  is  quite  as  much  as  I  can  manage;  I  don't 
think  I  care  for  another." 

"  It  isn't  an  advertisement  to  sett,  but  to  buy  a  farm. 
I  thought, —  that  is,  I  didn't  know,  but  what  you  might 
like  to  sell  part  of  your  land." 

Mr.  Hartwell  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 


132  THE    I1ARTWELL   FARM. 

looked  at  Theodora  in  astonishment.  She  had  dropped 
the  newspaper  and  taken  up  her  work ;  but  she  was  only 
making  a  pretence  of  sewing;  she  could  not  see  the 
seam  through  which  she  was  diligently  plying  her 
needle.  For  weeks  she  had  been  trying  to  make  up  her 
mind  to  propose  to  her  father  to  sell  part  of  his  immense 
estate ;  for  unless  some  such  step  was  taken  she  could 
not  see  what  was  to  become  of  them.  Absolute  poverty 
stared  them  in  the  face,  while  for  miles  around  them 
lay  their  own  land,  not  bringing  them  in  sufficient  in- 
come to  supply  their  table  with  the  simplest  food.  The 
facts  were  plain  and  bare  enough  :  she  felt  that  it  was 
no  longer  any  use  to  put  off  the  evil  day ;  she  must,  at 
any  cost,  make  her  father  realize  that  some  stringent 
measures  were  positively  and  immediately  necessary. 

Before  Mr.  Hartwell  could  speak  she  continued : 
"  Father,  I  know  you  have  no  idea  in  what  a  terrible 
strait  we  are  placed.  I  have  been  as  economical  as  I 
could  ;  I  have  bought  nothing  for  myself  or  the  boys, 
although  they  are  sadly  in  want  of  new  clothes.  Joe 
and  Sarah  have  not  been  paid  for  more  than  six  months. 
I  have  heavy  bills  for  groceries,  coal,  etc.,  and  not  a 
dollar  to  pay  them  with.  Besides,"  she  went  on, 
hurriedly,  "  Dick  must  soon  enter  college,  unless  you 
have  given  up  the  idea  of  sending  him,  and  how  is  he  to 

go?" 

"  There,  there,  child,  you  have  made  out  a  list  of 
misfortunes  long  enough  to  frighten  any  man.  It  grieves 
me  more  than  you  can  think  to  have  you  so  worried 
about  money  matters ;  but  what  can  I  do?  We  must 
get  along  somehow  until  the  peach  crop  is  ripe :  then  I 
know  we  shall  be  able  to  pay  all  the  bills." 

"  But,  father !  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  in  despair, 
"  here  it  is  only  the  first  of  March  ;  if  there  are  peaches 
enough  to  amount  to  anything,  they  won't  be  ripe  before 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  133 

September,  and  meanwhile  what  are  we  to  do  ?  Why 
won't  you  sell  some  of  the  land,  —  just  enough  to  set  us 
right  again  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  are  talking  of  what  you  evidently 
know  nothing.  I  inherited  the  whole  of  Hartwell  Farm 
from  my  father  ;  but  with  one  condition,  and  that  was, 
chat  it  should  never,  under  any  circumstances,  be 
livided,  during  my  lifetime.  So  you  see  I  could  not,  if 
[  wished,  sell  part  without  the  whole." 

"Then,"  exclaimed  Theodora,  desperately,  "sell  the 


"  Sell  the  Hartwell  Farm  !  "  cried  her  father,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  speaking  to  her  with  something 
like  anger  in  his  tone,  —  "  sell  the  Hartwell  Farm,  where 
I  was  born  and  have  lived  all  my  life,  and  my  father 
and  my  grandfather  before  me  !  Theodora,  what  has 
possessed  you  ?  You  are  the  last  one  of  all  my  children 
from  whom  I  should  have  expected  such  a  proposition. 
I  have  often  heard  you  speak  with  affectionate  pride  of 
the  old  oak-tree,  which  is  just  the  age  of  the  house,  and 
has  withstood  storms  and  winds  for  over  a  century. 
You  know  the  family  superstition  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
when  that  tree  dies  the  Hartwell  Farm  will  pass  into 
other  hands  ;  look  at  it  now,  it  is  as  fresh  and  green  as 
when  your  great-grandfather  planted  it  !  Why,  Theo- 
dora, I  don't  understand  you  at  all;  I  thought  you 
loved  the  old  place." 

"And  I  do  love  it,  father,"  replied  Theodora,  strug- 
gling to  keep  back  the  tears;  "1  never  knew  how  well 
till  now  ;  it  would  almost  break  my  heart  to  leave 
it." 

"  Then  don't  talk  about  it  any  more,"  said  Mr.  Hart- 
well,  all  his  temporary  anger  vanishing  in  a  moment. 
"I  must  find  some  other  alternative;  for  to  sell  Hart- 
well  Farm  is  something  which  would  never  have 


134  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

occurred  to  me.  I  must  go  out  now.  Don't  worry 
your  head,  dear,  about  money  matters ;  we  shall  come 
out  all  right  in  time." 

"Father.  I  wouldn't  go  out.  See  how  dark  it  has 
grown,  and  how  strange  the  sky  looks ;  we  are  going  to 
have  a  terrible  storm,  I  know.  Just  hear  the  wind  ; 
it  blows  fearfully." 

"I  know  it;  that  is  why  I  must  go,"  replied  her 
father,  putting  a  bundle  of  strong  twine  into  his  pocket 
and  taking  up  his  hat.  "I  shan't  be  gone  long;  but  I 
never  let  any  one  touch  those  peach-trees  but  my- 
self." 

As  the  door  closed  after  him,  Theodora  leaned  her 
head  against  the  low  window-sill  and  indulged  in  a  good, 
hearty  cry.  She  could  not  help  it ;  her  last  hope  had 
deserted  her ;  where  she  was  to  turn  next  for  assistance 
was  more  than  she  could  imagine.  But  she  did  not  long 
remain  in  that  position  ;  the  sound  of  the  rain,  as  it 
came  suddenly  dashing  against  the  panes,  made  her 
start  up  quickly.  The  storm  had  begun  with  great 
fury,  doors  were  banging  in  various  parts  of  the  house, 
and  Theodora  ran  upstairs  to  close  any  window  which 
might  have  been  left  open.  The  wind  grew  stronger 
and  stronger  ;  it  fairly  shrieked  round  the  corners  of 
the  house.  As  she  stood  looking  out,  a  young  elm  near 
by  was  twisted  off  its  trunk  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been  a 
twig;  the  branches  of  the  trees  lashed  themselves  against 
each  other  as  though  possessed  by  so  many  demons,  and 
the  driving  rain,  beating  against  them,  looked  almost  like 
foam  as  they  dashed  it  from  their  writhing  arms.  The 
sky  grew  blacker  every  moment ;  although  yet  early  in 
the  afternoon  it  seemed  as  dark  as  at  twilight. 

The  storm  increased  with  amazing  rapidity.  Never 
but  once  had  Theodora  seen  anything  so  terrific,  and 
that  was  the  memorable  September  gale  of  'sixty- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  135 

nine.  She  ran  downstairs  to  see  if  her  father  had 
'yet  returned;  but  neither  he  nor  the  boys  were  there. 
Hastily  putting  on  her  rubbers  and  throwing  her  water- 
proof over  her,  she  took  an  umbrella  and  started  to  go 
in  search  of  him.  As  she  opejied  the  outer  door  the 
force  of  the  wind  almost  took  her  off  her  feet;  she  called 
loudly  to  Sarah  to  come  and  close  the  door  after  her. 
That  good  woman  begged  her  not  to  go,  or  to  allow  her 
to  take  her  place  ;  but  Theodora  knew  that  if  any  danger 
assailed  her  father's  darling  orchard,  it  would  take  more 
than  Sarah's  influence  to  drag  him  away  from  it.  The 
umbrella  turned  inside  out  before  she  could  raise  it  over 
her  head,  and,  throwing  it  aside,  she  hurried  on,  although 
she  was  forced  more  than  once  to  stop  and  gasp  for 
breath. 

The  orchard  was  some  distance  from  the  house,  and 
when  she  reached  its  borders  her  father  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  She  shouted,  but  her  voice  was  overpowered 
by  the  storm,  which  had  already  begun  its  work. 
Great  branches  lay  about  in  every  direction,  while 
others  writhed  about  half  detached  from  the  trees.  She 
ran  down  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  immense  orchard, 
and  there  found  her  father,  his  hat  off,  no  overcoat  to 
protect  him  from  the  drenching  rain,  striving  with  all 
his  might  to  prop  and  secure  the  branches  of  one  of  his 
pet  trees. 

"  Father,  you  must  come  in  ;  indeed  you  must,"  she 
cried;  "you  will  catch  your  death  of  cold  if  you  stay 
here.  Come  with  me." 

"Run  back,  run  back;  don't  mind  me.  I  can't  go 
in;  I  must  tie  this  somehow.  I  want  some  rope;  this 
twine  is  worth  nothing.  If  I  don't  do  something  every 
tree  will  be  ruined  !  " 

He  spoke  excitedly.  Theodora  had  never  seen  him  so 
unlike  his  usual  self.  She  took  his  hat  and  forced  him 


186  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

to  put  it  on.  At  that  moment  a  tree  directly  in  front 
of  them  was  twisted  off  close  to  the  ground. 

"  Father,  it  is  worse  than  useless  for  you  to  stay  here  ; 
you  can  do  nothing;  you  must  come,"  said  Theodora. 

She  took  hold  of  his  arm  with  both  hands,  and  almost 
dragged  him  from  the  spot.  Together  they  struggled 
along.  The  young  trees  were  cracking  and  snapping 
about  them  at  every  stop.  Theodora  was  thankful 
when  they  passed  out  of  the  orchard,  for  at  the  sound 
of  every  falling  tree  her  father  had  groaned  as  though 
he  had  received  a  blow.  As  they  came  out  on  to  the 
lawn  she  turned  her  eyes  anxiously  towards  the  old 
oak.  It  was  still  safe  ;  it  held  up  its  head  proudly 
against  the  storm  ;  its  branches  were  too  mighty  to  be 
tossed  about  even  by  such  a  raging  wind  as  that  which 
now  howled  through  them.  They  resisted  it,  alas,  too 
strongly  ;  if  they  had  yielded,  if  they  had  but  bowed  a  little 
at  its  command,  it  perhaps  might  have  been  standing  for 
years  to  come.  As  Theodora  and  her  father  neared  the 
porch  they  heard  a  strange,  tearing  sound  behind  them; 
they  turned  suddenly  ;  at  that  instant  the  grand  old  oak 
tottered,  wavered  for  a  second  in  mid  air,  then  fell  with 
a  crash  which  shook  the  ground  beneath  their  feet,  and 
lay  helpless  and  prone,  its  great  roots  struggling  among 
the  smaller  trees  it  had  crushed  in  its  descent. 

Theodora  could  not  suppress  an  exclamation  of  grief 
and  almost  horror  as  she  saw  it  going.  She  turned 
quickly  to  her  father  ;  his  face  was  positively  ghastly ; 
but  he  stood  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  it  like  one  who 
looks  on  the  face  of  a  dead  friend,  then  said,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  "  Theodora,  you  only  anticipated  Fate. 
The  Hart  well  Farm  must  pass  into  other  hands;  the 
prophecy  will  be  fulfilled ;  "  then,  with  bowed  head, 
looking  altogether  crushed  and  broken,  he  passed  into 
the  house. 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  137 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    PROPHECY    IS   FULFILLED. 

THE  storm  passed  away  almost  as  quickly  as  it  came, 
and  tlie  next  morning  the  sun  smiled  down  on  Hartwell 
Farm  as  placidly  as  though  no  blight  had  fallen  upon  it. 
But  everywhere  traces  of  the  destroying  elements  might 
be  found  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  raging  wind  had  paused  in 
its  course  and  vented  its  fury  on  that  place  alone.  The 
house,  thanks  to  its  solid  frame  and  brick  walls,  had  suf- 
fered no  injury,  save  a  few  broken  panes  of  glass  ;  but 
the  rickety  old  out-buildings  and  dilapidated  fences  were 
almost  all  completely  destroyed,  and  lay  about  in  help- 
less wrecks  ;  while  in  every  direction  the  eye  might  turn 
it  was  met  by  the  sight  of  trees,  either  torn  up  by  the 
roots  or  broken  and  split  to  pieces. 

Theodora  had  laid  awake  almost  all  night  dreading  for 
the  morning  to  come.  She  hardly  dared  to  speak  of 
the  storm  to  her  father,  although  the  boys,  of  course, 
made  it  their  one  topic  of  conversation  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  but  Mr.  Hartwell  himself  hardly  mentioned  it ; 
indeed  I  doubt  very  much  if  he  heard  a  word  that  was 
said  ;  he  seemed  like  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep,  uncon- 
scious of  everything  around  him. 

Theodora  watched  him  with  anxious  eyes  as  he  took 
his  hat  and  went  out  without  speaking  to  any  one.  She 
saw  him  go  slowly  across  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  the 
old  oak :  she  had  thought  that  lie  would  have  avoided  it; 
but  no,  he  walked  up  to  it,  and  stood  for  some  time  per- 


138  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

fectly  still,  looking  at  it.  It  lay  there  ruined,  but  grand 
even  in  its  downfall,  and  through  its  branches  and  across 
its  mighty  trunk  the  morning  sunlight  danced  and  flick- 
ered. Theodora  saw  her  father  put  out  his  hand  and  lay 
it  on  it,  not  with  a  firm,  hearty  slap,  as  people  are  apt  to 
touch  a  great,  living  tree,  but  gently,  tenderly,  passing 
it  up  and  down  in  a  caressing  way  that  made  the  tears 
come  to  Theodora's  eyes  as  she  watched  him  ;  for  a 
moment  he  stood  thus,  then  turned  and  walked  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  orchard. 

An  hour  later,  as  Theodora  sat  at  her  work,  he  came 
into  the  room  and  took  his  usual  seat  by  the  fire.  For 
some  time  silence  reigned  throughout  the  room,  for  there 
was  something  in  her  father's  face  and  expression  akin  to 
that  which  it  had  worn  at  the  moment  when  he  entered 
alone  the  chamber  of  his  dead  wife,  which  made  Theo- 
dora feel  that  she  should  not  be  the  first  to  speak.  At 
last  Mr.  Hartwell  turned  to  her  and  said,  "  Theodora,  I 
was  very  hasty  yesterday.  I  thought  your  proposition 
to  sell  Hartwell  Farm  was  foolish,  —  worse  than  foolish. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  affected  me  ;  but  now  I  see  too 
plainly  that  it  is  the  only  thing  to  be  done."  He  paused 
a  moment,  and  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  then  contin- 
ued:  "My  last  hope,  the  peach-orchard,  has  entirely 
failed  me ;  it  is  a  hopeless  ruin.  Yes,  it  has  failed,  like 
so  many  others  of  my  many  experiments,  and  I  shall  never 
try  another ;  no,  never.  All  I  ask  now  is,  Theodora,  that 
you  will  take  the  responsibility  of  selling  the  farm. 
Don't  trouble  me  about  it;  I  am  growing  old ;  I  am  not 
fit  to  attend  to  it ;  only  sell  it,  sell  it  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble." 

Theodora  left  her  seat  when  her  father  began  speaking, 
and  went  and  stood  behind  his  chair,  her  hand  resting 
on  his  shoulder,  as  she  looked  down  at  him  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  It  was  something  so  entirely  new  for  him  to  be 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  139 

so  completely  crushed  and  disheartened  by  the  failure  of 
one  of  his  many  experiments,  that  her  first  thought  was, 
not  how  she  could  relieve  herself  of  this  new  responsibil- 
ity that  was  being  laid  upon  her,  but  of  what  she  could 
do  to  rouse  her  father  from  the  state  of  utter  hopelessness 
into  which  he  had  fallen. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  we  can  think  of  some 
other  plan.  Couldn't  you  get  a  farmer  to  manage  the 
place  for  you,  —  some  one  whom  you  could  trust,  and 
who  would  be  interested  to  try  and  bring  it  up  to  what  it 
used  to  be  ?  Then  you  need  not  sell  it." 

"  No,  Theodora,  I  tried  that  plan  once,  and  it  failed. 
I  placed  my  entire  confidence  in  a  man  who  betrayed  me ; 
I  could  never  try  it  again.  Then  I  undertook  to  carry 
on  the  farm  myself,  and  I  have  brought  it  to  what  it  now 
is.  I  hoped  it  would  never  leave  the  family  ;  but  it  is 
no  use.  it  must  go.  The  boys  will  not  be  old  enough  to 
carry  it  on  for  several  years,  and  would  have  nothing  to 
start  with  even  if  they  cared  about  it;  and  you,  Dody, 
you  to  whom  I  thought  to  leave  the  house,  because  you  are 
the  only  woman  I  can  bear  to  think  of  as  filling  your 
mother's  place  in  it,  are  the  one  to  whom  I  turn  for  aid; 
on  you  I  rely  to  save  me  all  the  trouble,  all  the  anxiety, 
in  regard  to  selling  the  place.  Will  you  do  it  for  me, 
Dody?" 

For  the  first  time  Theodora  realized  all  he  asked  of 
her.  Despite  his  tone  of  entreaty,  she  could  not  help  ex- 
claiming, "  Why,  father,  you  surely  don't  mean  that  you 
expect  me  to  attend  to  the  business  of  selling  Hartwell 
Farm?  I  don't  know  anything  about  such  things;  I 
don't  even  know  how  much  the  place  is  worth." 

"  I  don't  know  myself,"  replied  her  father  ;  "  it  was 
never  appraised  when  it  was  left  to  me.  There  was  no 
need  of  it;  I  was  the  only  heir,  and  it  came  to  me  unen- 
cumbered. Your  Uncle  John  says  it  has  increased  twenty 


140  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

per  cent,  in  value  since  the  railroad  ran  along  the  north 
side  ;  but  I  don't  know  anything  about  it ;  you  may  write 
and  advise  with  him  ;  he  will  tell  you,  better  than  I  can, 
what  to  do.  I  can't  think  about  it ;  when  I  try  my  brain  is 
in  hopeless  confusion ;  spare  me  as  much  as  you  can, 
Theodora,  for  I  am  growing  old;  I  am  growing  old." 

Indeed,  Mr.  Hartwell  had  sadly  aged  within  the  last 
six  months  ;  he  was  not  quite  seventy,  but  without  being 
either  feeble  or  in  ill-health  he  looked  older  than  most 
men  of  his  age.  Perhaps  I  have  failed  to  draw  his  char- 
acter so  as  to  present  it  in  its  true  light,  for  it  is  indeed 
a  difficult  one  to  portray ;  it  cannot  be  done  by  strong, 
bold  lines,  with  a  few  vigorous  dashes.  —  all  must  be 
vague,  shadowy,  ideal.  Perhaps,  to  many,  his  may  seem 
a  weak  nature ;  and  yet  such  is  not  the  idea  I  have  wished 
to  convey,  but  rather  that  of  a  man  to  whom  everything 
that  is  practical  and  matter-of-fact  in  this  world  is  entirely 
foreign ;  something  which  he  recognizes  and  admires  in 
others,  but  which  he  could  no  more  cultivate  in  himself 
than  he  could  insure  the  success  of  any  of  his  wild  exper- 
iments. 

Since  his  wife's  death,  the  only  thing  in  which  he  had 
taken  any  active  interest  was  his  peach-orchard, —  a  vis- 
ionary, impracticable  scheme,  as  we  all  know;  but  it  had 
been  his  one  hobby  for  three  years,  the  only  thing  which 
could  drag  him  away  from  his  books  ;  and  now  that  it  was 
taken  from  him,  he  seemed  like  some  one  who  has  been 
suddenly  deprived  of  some  needed  stimulant. 

Overpowering  as  the  responsibility  of  selling  the  farm 
appeared  to  Theodora,  she  resolved  to  undertake  it  when 
she  saw  the  condition  her  father  was  in.  She  wrote  im- 
mediately to  her  Uncle  John  for  advice  in  regard  to  what 
measures  she  should  take,  and  what  price  she  ought  to 
ask,  and  he  replied  at  once,  mentioning  a  sura  which 
seemed  to  her  almost  fabulous,  and  strongly  advising  her 


THE    IIAKTWELL   FARM.  141 

to  entrust  the  entire  management  of  tlie  sale  to  a  reliable 
real-estate  agent  whom  he  mentioned.  Theodora  hailed 
the  plan  with  delight ;  but  when  she  suggested  it  to  her 
father,  he  shook  his  head  decidedly,  and  positively  for- 
bade such  a  course.  He  would  not  trust  his  farm,  how- 
ever indirectly,  to  any  stranger;  he  had  been  betrayed  in 
regard  to  it  once,  and  it  had  made  him  suspicious  of  every 
one.  The  only  thing  Theodora  now  saw  for  her  to  do 
was  to  answer  the  advertisement  in  the  "  Journal  "  which 
she  had  seen  the  day  before.  She  did  so,  and,  to  her  no 
small  surprise,  in  about  a  week  received  a  short,  business- 
like letter  from  a  gentleman,  who  signed  himself  "  F.  A. 
Carlyle,"  stating  that  if  agreeable  to  Mr.  Hart  well,  he 
would  send  his  agent,  Mr.  Downs,  to  examine  the  property, 
with  regard  to  an  immediate  purchase,  provided  they 
could  come  to  satisfactory  terms.  The  letter  was  dated 
from  a  large  western  city,  and  Theodora  lost  no  time  in 
answering  it,  saying,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  that  she 
would  be  ready  to  receive  Mr.  Downs  at  any  time,  but 
that  Mr.  Hartwell  must  be  excused  from  any  participation 
in  the  matter,  except  the  necessary  signing  of  papers. 
Before  she  had  fairly  made  up  her  mind  what  she  should 
do  when  Mr.  Downs  arrived,  he  presented  himself.  The- 
odora had  hoped  that  Dick  would  be  there  to  go  over  the 
place  with  the  agent ;  but  he  was  off  somewhere  with  her 
father,  and  she  was  obliged  to  offer  her  services.  Mr. 
Downs  examined  the  house,  and  went  over  as  much  of  the 
land  as  was  possible  in  the  short  time  he  could  remain, 
and  Theodora  went  with  him  everywhere.  No  one  could 
describe  the  complication  of  feelings  which  filled  her  mind 
as  she  rode  with  him  from  one  part  of  the  farm  to  another, 
answered  all  his  questions  clearly  and  concisely,  pointed 
out  this  or  that  piece  of  woodland,  or  called  his  attention 
to  everything  about  the  place  which  she  had  ever  heard 
spoken  of  as  particularly  advantageous. 


142  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

Mr.  Downs  was  a  middle-aged  man,  very  polite  and 
considerate.  If  he  experienced  any  surprise  that  so  young 
a  person  should  have  the  responsibility  of  the  sale  of  such 
an  immense  estate,  he  kept  it  to  himself,  and,  promising 
to  report  immediately  to  Mr.  Carlyle,  he  took  leave  of  her 
with  a  most  dignified,  respectful  farewell. 

But  why  go  into  all  the  details,  which  are  necessarily 
so  dry  and  uninteresting  ?  Why  attempt  to  portray  all 
the  doubts  and  fears  which  Theodora  experienced  while 
the  matter  was  pending  ?  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  in  a  short 
time,  Theodora  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Carlyle  him- 
self, in  which  he  accepted  her  terms,  and  stated  at  what 
day  she  might  expect  Mr.  Downs  to  attend  to  the  busi- 
ness of  the  examination  of  the  title-deeds  and  conclude 
the  bargain.  And  so,  almost  before  Theodora  could  real- 
ize it,  the  whole  thing  was  settled,  and  the  prophecy  ful- 
filled :  the  Hartwell  Farm  had  passed  into  other  hands. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  143 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    PURCHASER    ARRIVES. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  the  final  interview  with  Mr. 
Downs,  Theodora  entered  the  library  holding  an  open 
letter  in  her  hand.  Mr.  Hartwell  looked  up  as  she 
approached  his  desk  and  asked,  "  Well,  Theodora,  what 
is  it  now?  " 

"  A  letter  from  Mr.  Carlyle,  he  has  —  " 

"  Ah  !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Hart  well,  "  I  suppose  he 
wishes  to  take  immediate  possession  ;  well.  I  ought  to 
have  expected  as  much." 

"  But  he  doesn't,  father,"  replied  Theodora.  "  Let 
me  read  you  the  letter,  and  see  what  you  think  of 
it:  — 

"C —   ,  April5,  187—. 
"  Miss  HARTWELL  :  — 

"Dear  Madam  :  I  presume  Mr.  Downs  informed  you  that  I  would 
write  myself  and  let  you  know  when  I  should  wish  to  take  possession 
of  the  Hartwell  Farm.  Before  coming  to  a  final  decision  on  the 
matter,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  namely,  that  you  will  induce 
Mr.  Hartwell  to  remain  in  the  house  during  the  summer,  and  allow 
me  to  make  one  of  his  family.  I  can  offer  no  excuse  for  so  singular 
a  request,  for  so  I  feel  it  must  seem,  coming  as  it  does  from  an  en- 
tire stranger,  except  the  fact  that  I  am  a  single  man,  and  do  not 
care  to  undertake  house-keeping  at  the  same  time  with  so  great 
a  responsibility  as  the  care  of  the  farm  will  be.  If  Mr.  Hartwell 
should  agree  to  my  proposition,  it  will  be  with  the  distinct  under- 
standing that  the  house  is  virtually  his  until  this  agreement  between 
us  shall  be  dissolved,  and  that  during  that  time  I  have  no  control 
over  it  whatever.  I  have  no  desire  to  thrust  myself  upon  him  or  his 
family ;  but  as  most  of  my  time  will  necessarily  be  spent  out  of  doors, 


144  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

I  think  I  can  promise  to  be  no  inconvenience,  while  I  should  look 
upon  such  an  arrangement  as  a  great  favor  conferred  upon  myself. 
"  Hoping  to  receive  a  favorable  answer  from  you  at  the  earliest 
opportunity,  stating  at  what  time  Mr.  Hartwell  would  be  ready  to 
receive  me,  I  remain,  dear  madam, 

*'  Your  obedient  servant, 

"F.  A.  CARLYLE." 


"  There,  father,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"A  very  straightforward,  respectful  letter.  He  asks 
a  favor  for  himself,  while  at  the  same  time  he  confers 
one  upon  us ;  for  the  rent  of  the  house  would  far  out- 
weigh any  trouble  or  expense  he  would  be  to  us,  and  he 
evidently  intends  that  one  should  offset  the  other.  But 
after  .all,  Theodora,  I  shall  leave  it  to  you  to  decide  the 
question,  for  on  you  would  come  any  inconvenience  there 
might  be  in  having  him  here." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would  be  much  trouble  ;  of  course 
I  judge  of  him  by  his  letters  ;  his  '  Dear  madam '  amuses 
me  intensely.  I  fancy  he  is  a  quiet,  middle-aged  man, 
and  I  don't  believe  I  should  mind  him  so  very  much. 
Besides.  I  must  own  that  the  prospect  of  staying  here 
another  summer  would  be  sufficient  inducement  for  me 
to  undertake  to  be  landlady  for  a  very  captious,  fractious 
old  gentleman,  and  I  can't  think  that  Mr.  Carlyle  is 
one." 

"No,  I  should  say,  from  the  tone  of  his  letters,  that 
he  was  decidedly  a  gentleman  of  the  '  old  school.'  His 
name  is  evidently  Scotch  ;  if  he  has  much  of  the  Scotch 
element  in  his  character  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  I  shall 
find  him  a  person  quite  suited  to  my  tastes.  Yes,  The- 
odora, I  agree  with  you,  that  the  prospect  of  remaining 
here  during  the  summer  outweighs  every  other  consider- 
ation. It  will  be  a  good  thing  for  us  all.  How  glud 
the  boys  will  be  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know   they    will ;     they   are   delighted  now 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  145 

with  the  novelty  of  living  in  the  city,  but  they  would 
find  it  hard  to  leave  here  when  the  time  came." 

•'  Yes,  it  will  be  hard  enough  for  us  all,  hard 
enough,"  replied  Mr.  Hartwell ;  "let  us  put  off  the 
dreaded  day  as  long  as  we  can.  Write  Mr.  Carlyle  at 
once,  and  say  I  agree  to  his  proposition,  and  shall  be 
happy  to  see  him  as  soon  as  it  may  suit  his  convenience 
to  come." 

Mr.  Temple  was  right  when  he  stated  that  the  Hart- 
well  Farm  was  worth  twenty  per  cent,  more  since  the 
railroad  had  been  built  so  near  it ;  and  despite  its  dilap- 
idated condition,  it  brought  a  price  so  much  larger  than 
Mr.  Hartwell  had  ever  dreamed  it  was  worth,  that  he 
rightly  considered  himself  placed  in  easy  circumstances 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  had  wisely  entrusted  the 
investment  of  the  money  realized  from  the  sale  to  Mr. 
Temple,  whose  sound  common-sense  and  wide  experience 
of  business  made  him  in  every  way  worthy  of  the  respon- 
sibility ;  and  so  all  the  money  difficulties  were  suddenly 
cleared  away,  and  Theodora  began  to  feel  something  like 
her  old  self  once  more.  The  great  trouble  would  be 
when  they  left  the  dear,  old  place;  she  dreaded  it,  not 
only  for  herself,  but  for  her  father.  The  business  of 
selling  had  been  transacted  so  quickly,  and  with  so  lit- 
tle knowledge  of  it,  on  his  part,  that  he  hardly  realized 
as  yet  that  he  was  no  longer  the  owner  of  Hartwell 
Farm.  Theodora  would  have  been  glad  if  he  had  seemed 
fully  aware  that  the  estate  was  actually  sold,  for  then 
she  felt  that  the  final  wrench  of  parting  would  not  be  so 
great ;  but  she  resolved  to  let  nature  have  her  way,  and 
hoped  for  the  best. 

"  Well,  Theodory,  I  came  in  through  the  kitchen,  an' 


THE    HARTWELL    FA  KM. 

as  I  didn't   see  nobody  downstairs  I  took  the  liberty  to 
come  up.      Hope  I  don't  intrude." 

"  Why,  Charity  Wygott."  exclaimed  Theodora,  look- 
ing down  from  the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps  on  which  she 
was  perched,  dusting  the  cornices  of  the  curtains  in  the 
"  fed  room,"  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  Do  sit  down 
Bornewhere,  if  you  can  find  an  empty  chair.  I  began  to 
think  you  had  quite  deserted  rue ;  where  have  you  been 
this  ever  so  long?  " 

"I've  had  company;  my  brother  an'  three  of  his 
children  came  down  on  me  without  a  word  o'  warning, 
and  I've  had  my  hands  full,  I  can  tell  you.  But  what 
upon  earth  are  you  doin'  to  this  room  ?  I  didn't 
s'pose  you'd  think  of  house-cleanin:  before  the  first  of 
next  month  ;  and  then  I  had  a  kind  o'  notion  I'd  drop 
in  for  a  few  days  and  lend  a  hand." 

"  Just  like  you  to  think  of  it,"  replied  Theodora, 
seating  herself  on  the  top  step  of  the  ladder ;  "  but  I 
hired  an  excellent  woman  from  the  village  to  help  Sarah 
with  the  scrubbing,  and  I  really  have  got  along  splen- 
didly. I  only  intended  to  do  father's  room,  the  dining- 
room,  and  library.  I  am  getting  this  room  ready  for  my 
summer  boarder." 

"  Your  summer  boarder  !  "  exclaimed  Charity,  look- 
ing up  at  Theodora,  as  usual,  over  the  tops  of  her  glass- 
es ;  "  what  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"Why,  didn't  you  know  I  was  to  have  a  boarder? 
I  am  —  honest  —  a  gentleman  too." 

"Now,  Theodora  Hartwell,  you  know  I  hate  myste- 
ries; so  if  you  have  got  anything  to  communicate,  the 
sooner  you  out  with  it  the  better.  For  my  part  I  don't 
believe  it's  a  boarder.  I'll  bet  anything  it's  one  o'  them 
city  sprigs  you  captivated  with  your  Ingy.  Now,  con- 
fess, and  don't  beat  round  the  bush  any  more." 

"  It's  nothing  of  the  kind,"   laughed  Theodora,  flour- 


THE    HABTWELL   FARM.  147 

isbing  her  duster;  "there  isn't  one  of  those  city  sprigs, 
as  you  choose  to  call  my  gentlemen  friends,  who  would 
take  the  trouble  to  come  and  see  me.  No,  I  assure  you 
he's  quite  a  different  person, —  a  gentleman  from  the 
West,  with  whom  I've  corresponded  for  some  little  time." 

"  Corresponded  !"  repeated  Charity;  "  then  I  know 
there's  something  in  it;  for  you're  not  the  kind  of  girl  to 
correspond  with  a  man  unless  your  intentions  was  seri- 
ous. Now  I'm  not  a  bit  curious,  not  a  bit ;  but  as  I've 
said  before,  I  hate  mysteries,  so  if  you'll  please  explain, 
I'll  be  obliged  to  you." 

Theodora  still  sat  on  the  top  of  the  step,  waving  the 
duster  over  her  head,  and  looking  very  mischievous.  She 
had  dreaded  to  tell  Charity  that  the  farm  was  sold,  for 
she  knew  she  would  feel  dreadfully ;  and  if  she  could  do 
it  under  the  cover  of  a  joke,  it  would  be  much  easier  for 
both  of  them.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  see  what  use 
there  is  for  me  to  tell  you  anything ;  you  won't  believe 
me.  It's  the  honest  truth,  though  ;  he  is  a  gentleman 
from  the  West,  and  he  is  going  to  board  here  this  sum- 
mer." 

"Well,  what  is  he  like?  How  old  is  he?  Where'd 
you  meet  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  is  like ;  I  don't  know  how  old 
he  is;  and  I've  never  met  him." 

"  Then  how,  in  the  name  of  creation,  did  you  happen 
to  correspond  with  him  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you'll  think  it  strange,"  Theodora  replied 
demurely,  and  at  the  same  time  with  rather  a  hesitating 
manner  :  "  I  don't  see  now  how  I  ever  had  the  courage 
to  do  it,  but — I  answered  an  advertisement  he  put  in 
the  newspaper." 

"Answered  an  advertisement!"  cried  Charity,  fairly 
springing  to  her  feet  in  surprise.  "  I  never,  never  would 
have  believed  it ;  you  are  the  last  girl  I  should  have  ex- 


148  THE    HAKTWELL   FARM. 

pected  such  a  thing  from.  You  must  excuse  me,  Theo- 
dory,  but  I  am  disappointed  in  you.  If  any  one  had  told 
me  that  you'd  'a  answered  one  o'  them  advertisements  for 
correspondences  I'd  have  told  'em  they  lied." 

"  And  so  you  might,"  replied  Theodora,  affecting  the 
most  innocent  surprise.  "  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in 
my  life  !  Mr.  Carlyle  wrote  an  advertisement  fora  farm, 
and  I  answered  it,  offering  ours.  There  !  now  the  secret 
is  out." 

"What  secret?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  ex- 
claimed Charity,  somewhat  testily;  "come  to  the  point 
now,  and  have  done  with  your  nonsense  !  " 

"Well,"  answered  Theodora,  speaking  very  fast,  as 
if  to  have  it  over  with  as  soon  as  possible,  "  the  Hart  well 
Farm  is  sold  to  a  gentleman  from  the  West;  he  doesn't 
wish  to  take  possession  of  the  house  until  next  autumn, 
so  meanwhile  we  remain,  and  he  boards  with  us." 

"  Sold  !  The  Hartwell  Farm  sold  !  "  repeated  Charity, 
slowly,  as  if  she  could  hardly  believe  her  senses;  "  I 
can't  understand  it.  Surely,  Theodory,  you  wouldn't 
joke  on  such  a  subject  as  that ;  it  can't  be  true." 

"  But  it  is,"  answered  Theodora,  forcing  a  smile,  deter- 
mined that  she  would  not  allow  herself  to  break  down  ; 
"  we  had  to  sell  it,  Charity.  It  was  no  use  to  struggle 
on  any  longer.  It  has  brought  far  more  than  we  dreamed 
it  was  worth,  so  that  we  are  really  very  well  off.  If  it 
were  not  for  leaving  the  dear,  old  home,  I  should  feel 
that  I  had  nothing  to  trouble  me  now." 

"  But  I  can't  take  it  in,"  said  Charity,  as  she  came  up 
and  stood  beside  Theodora  ;  "  I  can't  realize  it.  Why, 
I  never  could  imagine  any  one  but  a  Hartwell  living 
here.  My  great-grandfather  was  one  of  the  carpenters 
that  set  up  the  frame  of  the  house ;  I  feel  almost  as  proud 
of  the  place  as  you  do.  And  your  father, —  I  heard  how 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  149 

badly  he  felt  when  the  old  oak  fell, —  I  shouldn't  think  he 
could  bear  to  part  with  it." 

"  It  is  hard,  very  hard  for  him,  but  he  knew  it  was 
for  the  best;  and  this  arrangement,  by  which  we  stay 
another  summer,  will  put  off  the  parting  a  little  while, 
and  meanwhile  I  am  determined  not  to  borrow  trouble." 

Ci  That's  right,  that's  right;  you've  had  trouble  enough 
without  borrowin'  any,  and  you've  borne  it  beautifully. 
You  deserve  to  live  here  all  your  life  as  a  reward." 

"Let's  not  talk  anymore  about  it,"  said  Theodora, 
smiling  at  Charity  through  the  tears  that  would  force 
themselves  to  her  eyelids.  "  I  haven't  any  time  for  such 
weakness.  Just  look  at  this  room  !  Mr.  Carlyle  may  be 
here  any  minute,  and  I  haven't  made  the  bed  yet,  and  am 
not  in  a  respectable  condition  to  receive  him." 

"  Don't  you  trouble  yourself  about  this  room  ;  you  go 
and  dress  yourself,  and  I'll  set  things  to  rights  here 
before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson.  I  think  your  Mr. 
Carlyle,  if  that's  his  name,  will  find  himself  in  pretty 
comfortable  quarters." 

"  I  hope  he'll  think  so,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Theodora; 
uyou  see  I  have  no  idea  what  his  tastes  are,  so  I  have 
had  to  be  guided  by  father's.  Now  I  shouldn't  want  a 
fire  in  my  chamber  to-day,  for  it  is  really  quite  mild  out ; 
but  I  dare  say  he'll  like  it;  perhaps  he's  gouty, —  who 
knows?  I  had  the  large  arm-chair  out  of  the  parlor 
brought  up  here,  and  I've  done  my  best  to  make  every- 
thing as  comfortable  as  possible.  I  know  old  bachelors 
are  apt  to  be  fussy,  and  if  there  is  anything  I've  forgotten, 
I  hope  he'll  make  his  wants  known." 

•'Let  a  man  alone  for  that,"  replied  Charity,  as  she 
shook  and  pounded  the  mattresses  vigorously.  "  I 
shouldn't  worry  myself  about  him,  but  just  take  things, 
easy  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  Now  you  run  off  and 
dress  yourself." 


150  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

Thanking  Charity  for  her  kindness,  Theodora  repaired 
to  her  own  chamber,  and  was  soon  engaged  with  her  sim- 
ple toilet.  As  she  stood  in  front  of  the  glass,  brushing 
out  her  long  wavy  hair,  she  suddenly  recalled  the  funny 
adventure  she  had  had  the  afternoon  she  went  scrambling 
about  the  rocks  at  Scranton.  with  it  all  hanging  down  her 
'  back.  She  almost  laughed  aloud  as  she  remembered  the 
absurdity  of  the  situation  :  but  she  grew  serious  when  she 
thought  of  the  many  changes  which  had  occurred  witliin 
the  six  months  that  had  passed  since  then.  Six  months  ! 
they  seemed  six  years  to  her  as  she  looked  back  upon 
them.  The  Theodora  Hartwell  who,  in  her  mind's  eye, 
she  saw  resenting  the  offers  of  assistance  from  "  the  soli- 
tary horseman,"  was  a  very  different  person  from  the 
girl  who  now  looked  at  her  out  of  the  mirror.  She 
thought  to  herself,  as  she  pushed  the  hair  away  from  her 
face,  that  she  looked  years  older  than  when  she  took  life 
so  gayly  at  Scranton,  and,  as  she  thought  of  it,  it  sud- 
denly occurred  to  her  that  it  was  her  birthday  ;  she  was 
twenty.  Twenty  ^  She  could  hardly  believe  it ;  so 
many  things  had  occupied  her  time  and  attention  that  the 
fact  had  entirely  slipped  her  mind.  "  How  very  old  it 
seems  !  "  she  said,  half  aloud, —  "  out  of  my  teens  forever. 
I  wonder  if  I  appear  so  old  to  other  people.  I  remember, 
last  summer,  Mr.  Lee  thought  I  seemed  about  twelve, 
with  my  long  braids  and  my  short  dress.  How  I 
shocked  him  the  morning  I  ran  on  the  beach  with  Harry 
Dalton  !  Ah,  well,  it  was  ridiculously  foolish  and  child- 
ish ;  but  I  don't  think  he'd  be  shocked  if  he  should  see 
me  now." 

No,  I  do  not  think  he,  or  any  one  else,  could  have 
been  shocked  if  they  had  seen  Theodora,  as,  her  toilet 
completed,  she  sat,  with  her  head  leaning  on  her  hand, 
lost  in  thought.  Hers  was  a  very,  very  young  face;  in- 
deed, it  was  of  that  type  which  rarely  ever  loses  all  the 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  151 

look  it  wore  even  in  early  childhood  ;  perhaps  its  color 
was  not  as  bright  or  its  outlines  as  rounded  as  formerly, 
but  there  was  a  deeper  loveliness  about  it,  it  had  never 
worn  in  the  days  of  its  fresher  beauty;  an  expression 
rarely  seen  in  the  face  of  one  so  young,  and  never  except 
in  those  who  have  met  sorrow  face  to  face  ;  have  looked 
upon  disappointment  with  unflinching  eyes,  and  who  have 
had  burdens  laid  upon  them  almost  too  heavy  for  them 
to  bear,  but  have  carried  them  with  unwavering  patience 
to  the  end.  Her  lovely  hair,  which  had  more  than  once 
been  the  means  of  getting  her  into  disgrace,  was  brushed 
loosely  away  from  her  face  and  gathered  quite  high  at 
the  back  of  her  head  in  a  great  coil, —  a  style  which 
Theodora  had  assumed,  thinking  it  gave  her  a  more 
womanly,  dignified  air ;  but  the  loose  locks  would  stray 
here  arid  there,  and  twist  themselves  into  soft  little  curls, 
as  if  rebelling  against  the  new  order  of  things,  arid  assert- 
ing their  own  independence.  Her  dress  of  deep  mourn- 
ing harmonized  well  with  the  serious  expression  of  her 
face,  while  it  gave  a  womanliness  to  her  general  appear- 
ance inexpressibly  attractive  in  one  so  young.  As  she 
sat  by  the  window  in  the  soft  afternoon  light,  she  formed 
such  a  picture  as  rests  the  eyes  with  its  quiet  grace  and 
beauty ;  not  dazzles  them  by  boldness  of  outline  or  bril- 
liancy of  color. 

Theodora  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Charity,  who  came  rushing  into  the  room,  exclaim- 
ing, "The  room  is  all  ready,  and  as  sure's  you're  alive 
Mr.  Carlyle's  just  come  !  I  saw  him  drive  up  with  Joe." 

"  Oh,  dear!  "  exclaimed  Theodora,  "  how  I  dread  rneet- 
ingliim!  I  wish  it  was  over.  What  does  he  look  like?  " 

'•  Couldn't  say,  to  save  my  life  ;  I  only  just  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  crown  of  his  hat.  But,  pshaw  !  you  needn't 
mind  him  a  bit ;  'taint  as  though  he  was  a  young  man. 
I;  11  slip  down  the  back  way  ;  good-by.  0  Theodory,  I  for- 


152  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

got  all  about  it,  but  here's  a  little  keepsake  I  made  for 
you ;  'taint  much,  but  I  remembered  you  was  twenty  to- 
day. Don't  stop  to  thank  me,  for  I  haint  got  time  to 
listen." 

Off  she  ran,  leaving  a  very  pretty  pincushion  in  Theo- 
dora's hand.  Smiling  to  herself  as  she  placed  it  on  the 
bureau,  Theodora  ran  downstairs  without  giving  herself 
time  to  think  what  she  should  say,  and  the  next  moment 
Btood  in  the  presence  of  the  new  owner  of  the  Hartwell 
Farm. 


THE   HARTWELL   FAKM.  153 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A    SURPRISE. 

As  Theodora  entered  the  sitting-room  Mr.  Carlyle  was 
standing  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  looking  out  on  the 
lawn.  There  was  something  in  his  general  appearance 
which  at  the  first  glance  struck  her  with  surprise.  She 
had  unconsciously  formed  some  idea  of  what  he  would  be 
like,  and  had  fancied  him  as  rather  short  and  stout ;  but 
the  person  who  now  stood  unconscious  of  her  presence, 
his  figure  clearly  defined  against  the  light  from  the  large 
window,  was  very  tall,  and  anything  but  stout.  She  had 
only  time  for  a  hasty  survey  of  his  person,  for  as  she  ad- 
vanced farther  into  the  room  he  turned  suddenly  and, 
seeing  her,  politely  bowed. 

Theodora  could  hardly  suppress  an  expression  of  aston- 
ishment as  she  saw  his  face  ;  it  was  no  middle-aged  man 
who  stood  before  her,  but  one  who  certainly  could  be  but 
a  few  years  past  thirty.  For  an  instant  Theodora  was  so 
completely  taken  off  her  guard  that  she  could  not  think 
of  a  thing  to  say,  but  stood,  confused  and  embarrassed, 
in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Carlyle  came  towards  her,  and  extended  his  hand, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  "I  presume  I  speak  to  Miss  Hart- 
well,  Mr.  Hartwell's  daughter." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Theodora,  wondering  why  he  laid  such 
stress  on  the  daughter,  and  hardly  looking  him  in  the 
face.  "My  father  was  not  sure  when  you  would  arrive; 


154  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

he  has  gone  for  a  long  walk  ;  he  will  regret  exceedingly 
that  he  was  not  here  to  receive  you  himself." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you.  I  should  have  been 
sorry  to  have  had  him  remain  at  home  on  my  account.'1 

"  Will  you  be  seated,  sir?  "  asked  Theodora,  in  a  con- 
strained, formal  tone,  "or  would  you  prefer  to  go  at  once 
to  your  room?  " 

"  Thank  you;  if  convenient,  I  think  I  will  go  to  my 
room . ' ' 

Mr.  Carlyle  took  up  his  travelling-bag  and  followed 
Theodora,  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  "red  room."  As 
she  threw  open  the  door  and  stepped  back  for  him  to  en- 
ter, she  could  not  but  be  pleased  at  the  expression  of 
satisfaction  which  passed  over  his  face,  a  face  which,  save 
when  he  smiled,  wore  a  resolute,  determined  expression 
amounting  almost  to  sternness.  •"  How  pleasant !  "  he 
exclaimed;  "it  looks  so  comfortable  and  home-like.  I 
am  afraid  Miss  Hartwell  has  inconvenienced  some  other 
member  of  the  family  by  giving  me  such  a  great  room." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Theodora  ;  "  I  am  very  glad  you 
like  it." 

As  she  went  downstairs  to  the  sitting-room  again, 
•she  exclaimed  to  herself,  "I  never  knew  anything  so 
strange  in  my  life  !  I  was  so  completely  surprised  that  I 
didn't  know  what  to  say.-  How  stupid  in  me  to  appear 
so  embarrassed  !  If  anything  would  have  aroused  his  sus- 
picions my  manner  would  certainly  have  done  it.  A  gen- 
tleman of  '  the  old  school '  !  Well,  he  is  a  gentleman, 
there  is  no  doubt  of  that;  but  what  will  father  say  when 
he  sees  him?  But,  after  all,  he  doesn't  seem  like  other 
rneriofhis  age;  his  manners  are  so  formal.  Ho \v  strange 
in  him  to  speak  to  me  in  the  third  person,  just  as  if  I 
hadn't  been  standing  there  myself!  I  wonder  what  Kate 
will  say  when  I  write  her  about  it.  She  always  thought 
I  exceeded  any  one  else  for  having  remarkable  adventures, 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  155 

but  I  guess  she  will  think  I  never  had  one  yet  that- 
equalled  this.  I  cannot  get  over  it." 

While  she  was  thus  giving  vent  to  her  feelings,  her 
father  came  in  from  his  walk.  "I  hear  that  Mr.  Cur- 
ly le  has  arrived,"  he  remarked.  "  I  met  Joe  going  down 
to  the  village  for  his  trunk.  Have  you  seen  him,  Theo- 
dora?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  he  has  gone  up  to  his  room.  But.  father, 
you  will  be  so  surprised.  He  isn't  old  at  all ;  on  the 
contrary,  quite  a  young  man, —  not  much  over  thirty 
certainly." 

"What,  so  young  as  that!  I  am  surprised,  I  must 
say.  But  do  you  like  his  appearance?  Describe  him." 

"  He  is  very  tall,  and  has  a  fine,  powerful  figure. — • 
one  that  when  once  seen  would  never  be  forgotten.  He 
has  brown  hair,  blue  eyes, —  that  is,  I  should  say  they 
were  blue, —  a  straight  nose,  and  a  very  firm  and  decided 
chin  ;  his  mouth  is  almost  entirely  covered  by  a  long  mus- 
tache a  little  lighter  than  his  hair." 

"  Well,  Theodora,  you  seem  to  have  taken  him  in  thor- 
oughly ;  one  would  think,  to  hear  you  describe  him.  that 
you  had  seen  him  before.  However,  I  am  very  glad  you 
told  me  about  him  ;  his  age  is  nothing  against  him,  but  I 
should  not  have  liked  to  have  appeared  surprised  when  I 
saw  him,  and  I  am  very  much  afraid  I  should  have." 

Before  Theodora  could  reply  Mr.  Carlyle's  step  waa 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  the  next  moment  he  entered  the 
room.  Theodora  had  somewhat  dreaded  the  first  meeting 
between  him  and  her  father ;  she  had  feared  that,  as  the 
future  owner  of  Hartwell  Farm,  Mr.  Hartwell  would  not 
be  able  to  greet  him  without  some  slight  appearance  of 
constraint ;  but  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  her  fears  were 
unnecessary.  He  received  Mr.  Carlyle  with  dignified 
courtesy,  and  in  a  few  but  cordial  words  made  him  wel- 
come to  his  home.  No  allusion  whatever  was  made  to 


156  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

the  sale,  or  the  agreement  which  had  grown  out  of  it, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  fell  into  easy  conversation,  while 
Theodora  sat  apart  and  watched  them.  As  she  looked  at 
Mr.  Carlyle  she  could  not  but  be  convinced  that  under 
his  management  the  Hartwell  Farm  would  not  long  re- 
main in  its  present  dilapidated  condition.  Indeed,  no  one 
could  have  scrutinized  those  features,  have  remarked  the 
resolute  mould  of  the  chin,  and  the  clear,  unflinching 
expression  in  the  eyes,  without  being  convinced  that  they 
belonged  to  a  man  who  accomplished  whatever  work  he 
undertook. 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  watching  him  as  he  talked  with 
her  father  that  she  paid  no  particular  attention  to  what 
they  were  saying  until  he  suddenly  remarked,  "  I  under- 
stood that  Miss  Hartwell  resided  with  you,  sir.  Shall  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  this  evening  ?  " 

"Miss  Hartwell,  oh,  yes."  replied  Mr.  Hartwell,  with 
a  smile  ;  "  this  is  the  young  lady." 

"I  meant  the  elder  Miss  Hartwell,"  replied  Mr.  Car- 
lyle,  slightly  bowing  to  Theodora  as  her  father  alluded 
to  her;  "  I  presumed  she  was  your  sister,  sir." 

Theodora  and  her  father  exchanged  glances  of  sur- 
prise. "I  think  I  hardly  understand  you,"  remarked 
the  latter;  "  I  have  no  sister." 

"I  referred  to  the  Miss  Hartwell  with  whom  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  a  short  correspondence;"  looking  first  at 
Theodora  and  then  at  her  father.  "  I  inferred  from  her 
letters  that  she  was  a  maiden  lady,  —  probably  your  sister 
and  house-keeper." 

For  the  first  time  in  months  Mr.  Hartwell  fairly 
laughed  aloud ;  as  for  Theodora  she  would  have  been  glad 
if  the  floor  had  kindly  opened  and  taken  her  in.  In  an 
instant  it  occurred  to  her  how  the  mistake  had  been  made ; 
for  the  sake  of  formality,  and  because  she  thought  it 
would  appear  more  business-like,  she  had  never  alluded 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  157 

to  her  father  in  her  letters  to  Mr.  Carlyle,  as  her  father, 
but  always  as  Mr.  Hartwell.  She  had  always  written  as 
briefly  and  concisely  as  possible,  often  thinking,  as  she  did 
so,  how  very  unlike  herself  her  letters  sounded ;  and  it  was 
that  very  briefness  which  had  probably  led  Mr.  Carlyle 
to  suppose  that  they  came  from  a  much  older  person. 
But  Mr.  Hartwell  soon  recovered  himself,  and  turning  to 
Mr.  Carlyle  remarked,  "  I  must  seem  unpardonably  rude  ; 
but  my  daughter  is  the  only  Miss  Hartwell  of  whose  ex- 
istence I  am  aware,  and  she  is  the  maiden  lady  with  whom 
you  have  corresponded." 

Mr.  Carlyle  turned  to  Theodora,  and  made  a  profound 
bow.  "1  must  consider  this  as  a  formal  introduction," 
he  said;  "for  I  never  imagined  when  I  met  you  that 
you  were  the  Miss  Hartwell  who  answered  my  advertise- 
ment. I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life." 

"Well,  well,"  laughed  Mr.  Hartwell,  entirely  obliv- 
ious of  Theodora's  embarrassment,  "  the  surprise  was  not 
all  on  your  side,  I  assure  you,  for  she  had  formed  about 
the  same  opinion  of  you  that  you  had  of  her.  She  ex- 
pected to  see  a  short,  stout,  middle-aged  man,  quite  unlike 
yourself." 

"Then  that  accounts  for  the  look  of  surprise  with  which 
she  at  first  regarded  me,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle.  "  I  con- 
fess I  am  glad  to  have  it  explained,  for  I  fancied  my  let- 
ter had  miscarried,  and  that  I  was  not  expected  so  soon." 

Theodora  was  thankful  that  he  had  thus  construed  any 
amazement  which  she  had  been  unable  to  conceal,  and, 
making  some  only  half-intelligible  remark  about  seeing 
that  supper  was  prepared,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Six  weeks  passed  and  the  first  of  June  found  Mr.  Car- 
lyle as  much  at  home  at  Hartwell  Farm  as  though  he 
had  lived  there  for  years.  Theodora  found  herself  lost 
in  astonishment  when  she  considered  how  completely  he 


158  THE    HARTWELL   FAKM. 

had  adapted  himself  to  the  habits  and  customs  of  the 
household,  and  how  thoroughly  he  seemed  like  one  of  the 
family.  '  From  the  moment  of  their  first  meeting  he  and 
Mr.  Hartwell  had  suited  each  other.  Mr.  Carlyle  was  as 
practical  and  matter-of-fact  in  his  views  as  Mr.  Ilavtwell 
was  visionary  and  ideal  in  his,  and  yet  the  two  would 
talk  for  hours  as  amicably  as  though  they  entertained  the 
same  opinions.  Mr.  Carlyle  had  gone  to  work  with  a 
will,  renovating  the  farm  in  every  possible  w;iy.  He 
had  a  judicious  head  farmer,  a  New  England  man,  with 
whom  he  consulted  as  to  every  improvement  he  made 
but  nothing  was  done  without  his  own  personal  supervision. 
Theodora  had  feared  that  it  would  be  very  hard  for  her 
father  to  see  so  many  innovations  on  the  land  he  had 
owned  all  his  life ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  he  discussed 
every  fresh  improvement  with  Mr.  Carlyle  with  as  much 
enthusiasm  as  though  it  had  been  part  of  the  system  which 
he  himself  had  carried  on  ;  and,  while  he  might  shake 
his  head  at  the  new  order  of  things,  he  manifested  the 
liveliest  interest  in  the  result.  Theodora  sometimes 
feared  that  his  habit  of  giving  his  opinion  on  every  step 
taken,  as  though  the  farm  still  belonged  to  him,  might 
be  offensive  to  Mr.  Carlyle,  and  more  than  once  had  she 
looked  up  hastily  at  some  remark  of  her  father's,  which, 
by  some  men,  might  readily  have  been  construed  into 
interference.  Her  glance  was  always  met  by  one  from 
Mr.  Carlyle  which  seemed  to  assure  her  that  he  under- 
stood both  her  feelings  and  her  father's  temperament,  and 
knew  that  the  habits  of  a  lifetime  could  not  be  broken  up 
in  a  few  years.  In  all  his  conversations  with  Mr.  Hart- 
well  in  regard  to  the  farm,  he  delicately  refrained  from 
alluding  to  it  as  his  own,  but  always  spoke  of  it  by  its 
old,  familiar  name.  Mr.  Carlyle  had  all  a  woman's  tact, 
combined  with  a  true  respect  for  the  opinions  and  feel- 
ings of  others,  and  an  entire  abnegation  of  self,  which  ren- 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  159 

dered  him  peculiarly  adapted  to  form  an  agreeable  com- 
panion for  a  man  of  Mr.  Hartwell's  age  and  disposition. 
But  while  Theodora  acknowledged  to  herself  that  he 
seemed  like  one  of  the  family,  it  was  entirely  in  his  rela- 
tions with  her  father  and  brothers,  —  not  herself.  With 
the  boys  he  was  on  the  best  of  terms  ;  he  entered  into  all 
their  pursuits,  made  himself  acquainted  with  their  various 
tastes  and  characteristics,  and,  while  he  never  lost  a  jot 
of  his  native  dignity,  was  as  free  and  frank  with  them 
as  though  of  their  own  age.  His  influence  over  Dick 
was  already  beginning  to  show  itself  in  the  more  manly 
bearing  arid  more  quiet  behavior  of  that  somewhat  obstrep- 
erous young  gentleman. 

But  notwithstanding  the  perfect  harmony  which  ex- 
isted between  him  and  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  and  The- 
odora were,  to  all  appearances,  as  entire  strangers  as  at 
the  moment  of  their  first  meeting.  They  sat  at  the  same 
table  day  after  day ;  they  spent  most  of  their  evenings  in 
the  same  room,  and  yet  they  had  never  exchanged  a  half- 
hour's  conversation.  Despite  Mr.  Carlyle's  various 
friendly  advances  and  habitual  courteous  bearing,  Theo- 
dora treated  him  with  a  degree  of  formality  bordering  on 
coldness.  Why  she  did  so  would  have  been  a  difficult 
question  for  her  to  answer,  for  the  embarrassment  which 
she  experienced  at  their  first  interview  had  entirely  worn 
off";  but  it  was  succeeded  by  a  secret  feeling  of  antagonism 
impossible  to  analyze.  It  irritated  her  to  be  forced  to 
confess  that  the  present  happy,  comfortable  state  of  things 
was  in  a  great  measure  due  to  him;  that  his  society,  his 
intelligent,  sensible  conversation,  had  done  more  to  rouse 
her  father  from  the  state  of  apathy  into  which  he  had  fall- 
en than  she  had  thought  anything  ever  could  do.  But 
notwithstanding  the  slight  social  intercourse  between  Mr. 
Carlyle  and  herself,  there  existed  a  tacit  understanding 
between  them  in  regard  to  her  father.  No  allusion  had 


160  THE    HARTWELL    FARM. 

i 

ever  been  made  in  any  way  to  any  of  Mr.  Hartwell's 
peculiarities,  but  Mr.  Carlyle's  ready  interpretation  of 
the  anxious  glances  which  she  had  at  first  so  often  turned 
on  him;  his  adroitness  in  changing  the  conversation  when 
he  found,  by  the  expression  of  her  face,  that  he  was  tread- 
ing upon  one  of  the  cherished  prejudices  of  her  father  ; 
the  numberless  interchange  of  intelligent  looks,  were  form- 
ing a  bond  of  sympathy  between  them  strong  enough  to 
overpower  all  petty  whims  or  the  antagonistic  feelings 
which  she  had  encouraged. 


THE   HARTWELL   FARJL  161 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

UNEXPECTED    TIDINGS. 

"HERE'S  two  letters  for  you,  Theodora,"  said  Dick 
Hartwell,  one  morning,  going  into  the  dining-room,  where 
his  sister  was  arranging  some  flowers,  and  handing 
them  to  her  instead  of  throwing  them  through  the 
open  door,  as  had  usually  been  his  custom ;  adding, 
as  he  left  the  room,  "They're  both  mailed  at  Boston." 

Theodora  held  both  the  letters  in  her  hand,  examining 
the  addresses ;  one  was  from  her  cousin  Kate,  but  the 
handwriting  of  the  other  was  entirely  new  to  her;  it  ap- 
peared to  be  that  of  a  man,  although  the  envelope  was  of 
diminutive  proportions,  the  paper  of  a  delicate  rose  tint, 
and  gave  out  a  faint  odor  of  violets.  She  laid  it  down, 
saying  to  herself,  "  I  must  read  Kate's  first,  whoever  the 
other  is  from,  for  I  haven't  heard  from  her  for  an  age." 

"BOSTON,  July  1,  187-. 

"  MY  DARLING  THEODORA  :  —  I  know  you  will  think  me  a  heathen, 
indeed,  I  don't  blame  you,  for  not  answering  your  dear  long  letter 
received  nearly  two  months  ago.  It  was  so  exactly  like  your  old 
self,  so  droll  and  original  from  beginning  to  end,  that  I  intended  to 
have  sat  down  and  scribbled  you  an  answer  forthwith.  But  away 
with  excuses !  I  didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind,  and  I  won't  waste 
my  time  or  paper  in  useless  apologies. 

"  Well,  Dody,  you  were  right;  I  never  did  know  such  a  young 
woman  as  you  are  for  wonderful  adventures,  and  your  last  puts  all 
the  others  completely  in  the  shade.  I  read  your  account  of  that 
meeting  over  and  over  again,  before  I  could  fairly  take  it  in.  I  don't 
wonder  you  were  surprised,  and  cannot  imagine  how  you  kept  from 
betraying  yourself  when  you  beheld  your  summer  boarder.  A  '  nice 
middle-aged  gentleman '  your  Mr.  Carlyle  must  be,  and  what  an  inter* 


162  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


esting  position  for  you  to  hold, —  that  of  his  landlady  !  I  read  your 
letter  to  Marion  Drayton,  and  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  her  laugh ; 
but  she  says  she  will  trust  you  for  maintaining  all  the  dignity  the 
situation  requires.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  hair  is  arranged  in 
a  classical  coil ;  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  keep  it  in  order,  for  it 
may  yet  get  you  into  another  scrape  which  will  exceed  that  memo- 
rable adventure  with  the  '  solitary  horseman.' 

"Now,  my  dear,  I  have  been  the  very  essence  of  unselfishness,  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been  dying  to  talk  about  myself.  I  have  a 
very  remarkable  piece  of  news  to  tell  you, —  I  am  engaged  to  Thurs- 
ton  Lee !  There !  now  drop  your  letter  and  hold  up  both  hands  and 
look  duly  astonished,  or  I'll  never  forgive  you.  It  comes  out  to- 
morrow, but  I  was  determined  you  should  hear  of  it  first.  Of  course 
you  are  wild  to  know  how  it  all  came  about ;  how  I  quitted  my  evil 
ways  at  Scranton  and  became  a  rational  being.  I  must  be  serious 
now,  dear,  and  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  the  little  lecture  I 
had  from  you  about  Frank  Dale  was  not  without  its  effect.  I  confess 
that  up  to  that  time  I  had  fully  determined  to  marry  him.  I  knew 
exactly  what  kind  of  a  man  he  was.  I  did  not  try  to  flatter  myself 
that  I  should  be  able  to  reform  him,  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  such 
a  thing  would  be  utterly  impossible ;  but  I  did  natter  myself  that  I 
should  be  able  to  satisfy  myself  with  the  wealth  and  social  distinction 
which  a  marriage  with  him  would  bring  me.  I  do  not  think  I  knew 
then  how  much  I  really  loved  Thurston,  I  only  felt  that  the  possi- 
bility of  loving  him  was  very  great ;  and  I  wished  to  overcome  it 
before  it  grew  so  strong  as  to  prevent  me  from  marrying  Mr.  Dale ; 
but  your  words  roused  feelings  in  my  heart  which  I  thought  I  had 
succeeded  in  conquering,  and  they  would  not  be  quieted.  I  deter- 
mined to  put  an  end  to  my  intimacy  with  Frank  Dale  before  he  went 
so  far  as  to  offer  himself;  but  all  my  endeavors  to  avoid  him,  to  show 
him  that  his  attentions  were  no  longer  agreeable,  were  entirely  use- 
less;  nothing  would  satisfy  him  but  a  point-blank  refusal.  I  think 
I  was  actuated  by  unselfish  motives  in  declining  his  offer;  indeed,  I 
am  sure  that  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  the  means  of  drawing  Thurs- 
ton to  me,  for  I  felt  confident  that,  after  he  had  seen  me  openly 
encourage  such  a  man  as  Frank  Dale,  he  could  never  again  respect, 
far  less  love  me.  I  avoided  him  as  much  as  possible  after  our  return 
to  the  city,  and,  although  we  met  at  parties  quite  often  during  the 
•winter,  we  rarely  exchanged  anything  but  the  most  formal  greetings; 
it  was  not  until  last  March  that  anything  like  the  old,  frank  inter- 
course was  established  between  us.  I  met  him  one  day  at  Dall  and 
Richards,  and  congratulated  him  on  the  success  of  his  book.  I  was 
proud  of  it,  very  proud,  and  I  tbink  I  must  have  seemed  so.  I  don't 
think  my  remarks  were  very  brilliant;  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what 
they  were,  but  they  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  and  the  result  was,  that 
for  the  first  time  in  months  he  walked  home  with  me.  Well,  dear, 
matters  progressed  finely  after  that,  and  one  reason  why  I  haven't 
written  you  all  this  time  was  because  I  was  afraid  I  might  betray  my 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  163 

feelings,  if  I  sat  down  for  a  good,  long  that  with  you.  To  make  a 
very  long  story  short,  it  was  all  settled  last  Class  Day, —  you  know 
Thurston  graduated  at  Harvard  in  '63, —  I  don't  know  exactly  how 
myself:  I  have  a  confused  idea  of  Chinese  lanterns,  illuminated 
buildings,  and  a  band,  followed  by  a  long  walk  through  the  most  re- 
tired, darkest  part  of  the  college  grounds,  and  then —  Ah!  Theo- 
dora, there  I  shall  have  to  draw  the  curtain  ;  it  was  a  short  drama, 
but  I  assure  you  it  was  very  satisfactory  to  the  actors.  I  made  a 
full  confession  to  Thurston,  and  tried  to  convince  him  that  I  should 
never  have  come  to  my  senses  if  it  had  not  been  for  you;  but  he  is 
very  persistent,  and  insists  that  I  should  have  seen  the  error  of  my 
ways  before  it  was  too  late.  Nevertheless,  I  assure  you  he  enter- 
tains the  same  unbounded  admiration  for  that  '  delightfully  unsophis- 
ticated '  cousin  of  mine  as  when  he  first  saw  her,  and  if  he  were  here, 
I  know  he  would  send  some  cousinly  messages. 

"Papa  is  in  a  radiant  state,  bordering  on  foolishness.  I  tell  him  it 
is  not  very  complimentary  to  me  for  him  to  be  so  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  losing  me  ;  but  he  always  did  admire  Thurston,  and  says 
he  is  a  son-in-law  after  his  own  heart.  You  see  I  have  been  mak- 
ing up  for  lost  time  by  the  length  of  this  letter ;  I  have  wasted  about 
half  a  quire  of  my  best  paper  on  you ;  but  I  won't  bother  you  another 
moment,  so  good  by, 

"  From  your  radiantly  happy  but  undeserving  cousin, 

"KATE." 

Theodora  did  not  drop  the  letter  and  hold  up  her  hands 
as  she  read  Kate's  startling  announcement ;  she  continued 
to  the  end,  smiling  to  herself  and  looking  quite  as  pleased 
and  surprised  as  her  cousin  could  possibly  have  expected. 
"I  am  so  glad  !  ';  she  said  to  herself  as  she  re-read  certain 
parts  of  the  letter;  "so  very,  very  glad.  It  is  the  best 
piece  of  news  I  could  possibly  have  had  Mr.  Lee  will 
make  a  splendid  woman  of  Kate,  and  I  knoAV  she  will  be 
thoroughly  happy  as  his  wife.  At  last  one  of  my  pet 
dreams  is  realized." 

She  was  so  absorbed  with  her  pleasant  reflections  that 
she  entirely  forgot  the  other  letter  lying  in  her  lap,  until, 
as  she  sprang  up  to  attend  to  her  neglected  flowers,  it 
fell  on  the  floor  at  her  feet.  "Oh,  my  other  letter  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  entirely  forgot  it."  As  she  stooped 
to  pick  it  up,  the  monogram,  which  had  before  escaped 


164  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

her  notice,  attracted  her  attention.  "  S.  S.,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  deciphered  the  elaborate  combination  of 
letters,  —  "S.  S.,  who  in  the  world  can  that  be?  I 
don't  know  of  but  one  person  who  has  those  initials,  and 
he  wouldn't  be  so  foolish  as  to  —  no,  it  can't  be  he !  " 

She  tore  open  the  envelope  and  hastily  glanced  at  the 
signature ;  the  instant  it  met  her  eye  she  gave  a  little 
gasp,  and  sank  down  in  a  chair  with  a  dazed,  almost 
frightened  expression  on  her  face.  She  held  the  letter 
in  her  hand  for  some  time  without  reading  it ;  she  seemed 
to  have  a  vague,  undefined  feeling  of  dread  in  regard  to 
its  contents  which  she  could  not  bear  to  have  confirmed. 
At -last  she  took  it  up  and  read  it  to  the  end.  Her  fears 
were  verified  ;  it  was  a  plain,  straightforward  offer  of 
marriage  from  Smythe  Simperton.  As  Theodora  read  it 
she  entertained  more  respect  for  him  than  she  had  ever 
been  able  to  feel  in  the  days  of  their  acquaintance  at 
Scranton.  She  would  have  been  almost  glad  if  there 
had  been  anything  in  it  suggestive  of  his  former  foppish, 
conceited  manner  ;  then  she  would  have  felt  that  it  would 
not  be  so  hard  to  write  to  him  the  answer  she  must  send; 
but  all  that  was  best  and  noblest  in  the  man  had  been 
called  forth  by  the  love  which  Theodora  acknowledged 
was  as  true  and  sincere  as  any  woman  could  ever  wish  to 
receive.  He  told  her,  in  a  few,  simple  words,  how  sur- 
prised he  had  been  when  he  found  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  he  really  loved ;  he  said  that  he  knew  he  was 
unworthy  to  be  her  husband,  but  that  his  love  for  her 
was  so  great,  its  influence  over  him  had  already  been  so 
powerful  for  good,  that  he  was  confident,  if  she  could  but 
consent  to  become  his  wife,  she  could  make  him  what  she 
would. 

As  Theodora  finished  reading  his  letter,  and  realized 
how  entirely  another's  happiness  lay  in  her  hands,  she 
felt  more  thoroughly  wretched  and  miserable  than  she 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  165 

had  ever  been  in  her  life.  Not  once  did  she  entertain 
the  slightest  feeling  of  triumph,  that  a  man  who  had  been 
an  habitue  of  fashionable  society  for  years,  had  made  it 
his  boast  that  he  had  never  been  captivated  by  any 
woman,  had  laid  his  heart  at  her  feet;  not  once  did  the 
thought  of  the  wealth,  the  life  of  perfect  luxury  which 
would  be  hers,  if  she  should  marry  Smythe  Simperton, 
occur  to  her.  She  was  beset  by  no  temptation  to  yield 
to  his  wishes,  from  any  worldly  motives ;  he  had  put  the 
question  to  her  plainly,  "  Could  she  love  him  well  enough 
to  become  his  wife?"  and  for  her  there  was  but  one 
answer  to  make  —  and  that  was,  no. 

She  felt  that  she  must  not  keep  him  in  unnecessary 
suspense ;  so  at  once  went  to  her  own  room,  where  she 
would  be  free  from  interruptions,  determined  not  to  leave 
it  until  she  had  succeeded  in  writing  her  answer.  She 
strove  to  make  it  as  kind  and  considerate  as  possible, 
while  at  the  same  time  it  precluded  all  possibility  of 
hope  for  any  change  in  her  feelings.  As  she  wrote  her 
name  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
signing  a  death-warrant,  and  would  have  given  all  she 
possessed  in  the  world,  if  she  could  have  entirely  destroyed 
the  affection  she  had  been  so  little  desirous  of  rousing. 
She  sat  a  long  time,  hardly  knowing  where  she  was 
until  the  dinner-bell  recalled  her  to  herself.  Hurriedly 
thrusting  both  Mr.  Simperton's  letter  and  her  answer  in 
a  drawer,  she  went  downstairs  with  a  heavy  heart. 

"Well,  Theodora,  what  is  the  news  from  Boston?" 
asked  Mr.  Hart  well,  as  the  family  took  their  seats  at 
the  tabla;  "I  hear  you  had  two  letters  from  there." 

"  She  doesn't  look  as  though  they  pleased  her  very 
much,"  remarked  Frank,  in  his  quiet  way  ;  "I  don't 
believe  they  were  very  interesting.  Say,  Dode,  who  was 
that  pink  thing  from  ?  " 

"  Kate  wrote  me  a  very  startling  piece  of  news,"  said 


166  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

Theodora,  not  appearing  to  notice  Frank's  last  question, 
—  "  she  is  engaged." 

"To  one  of  your  beaux,  I'll  bet!"  cried  Dick  ; 
"that's  the  reason  you  look  so  glum." 

"  The  gentleman  is  one  of  my  friends,  — a  man  I 
admire  extremely,"  replied  Theodora  ;  "  the  very  one  I 
hoped  Kate  would  marry,  —  Mr.  Thurston  Lee,  of  Bos- 
ton." 

"  Is  he  any  one  whom  your  uncle  knows  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Hartwell.  "  Is  he  pleased?  " 

"  As  Kate  expresses  it,  he  is  in  a  radiant  state  bor- 
dering on  foolishness.  And  I  know  he  can't  help  being 
pleased,  for  Mr.  Lee  is  one  of  the  finest  men  I  ever 
knew." 

"  But,  Dode,  you  don't  tell  who  your  other  letter  was 
from,"  said  Dick,  —  "  that  one  in  the  pink  envelope,  all 
perfumed  and  filligreed.  I  should  have  thought  it  was 
from  a  lady  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  handwriting ;  but 
that  was  a  man's." 

Theodora  colored  painfully,  but  answered,  "It  was 
from  a  gentleman  I  met  at  Scranton." 

"  Were  you  ever  at  Scranton,  Miss  Theodora  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Carlyle. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Theodora,  concisely.  "  Father,  can  I 
help  you  to  anything?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  Mr.  Carlyle  you  speak  of  Scran- 
ton as  if  the  name  were  familiar  to  you  ;  were  you  ever 
there?" 

"  Not  to  stay  any  length  of  time.  I  spent  last  sum- 
mer very  near  there,  and  used  to  ride  over  to  the  beach 
frequently." 

"  I  am  surprised  you  did  not  see  Theodora  ;  she  was 
there  last  summer,  and,  from  all  accounts  spent  most  of 
her  time  on  the  beach." 

"  I  only  rode  there  for  the  sake  of  the  fine  sea- view," 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  167 

replied  Mr.  Carlyle.  "As  you  know,  lam  not  much 
ot  a  society  man,  so  never  cared  to  go  to  the  beach  at  the 
fashionable  hours;  still  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  did  see 
Miss  Theodora,  for  ever  since  I  have  been  here,  she  has 
reminded  me  of  some  one  I  have  seen  before,  but  whom, 
I  cannot  imagine." 

"I  can  tell  you  what,"  exclaimed  Dick,  "I  don't 
believe  you  ever  did  see  her;  for  if  she'd  met  you  in 
Jericho  she'd  know  you  the  next  time  she  saw  you ;  she 
never  forgets  a  face,  —  do  you,  Dode?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Theodora,  then  suddenly  changing  the 
subject  of  conversation,  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  the  vil- 
lage this  afternoon,  does  any  one  want  anything?  " 

"I  do,  Miss  Theodora,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle.  "I 
want  you  to  let  me  drive  you  down  in  my  new  buggy, 
which  arrived  this  morning.  Now,  don't  refuse  me,  as 
you  always  have,  or  I  shall  take  it  as  a  personal 
slight." 

"  She  is  a  goose,  if  she  does  !  "  broke  out  Dick.  "  I 
tell  you,  Dody,  it's  a  stunning  team,  and  1  rather 
flattered  myself  that  I  should  be  the  first  to  ride  in 
it." 

•'You  reckoned  without  your  host,"  laughed  Mr. 
Carlyle.  "  Miss  Theodora,  silence  gives  consent ;  what 
time  do  you  wish  to  go?  " 

As  Mr.  Carlyle  had  said,  Theodora  had  invariably 
declined  his  numerous  invitations  to  ride  with  him, 
always  having  some  plausible  reason  for  remaining  at 
home;  but  to-day,  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  it, 
she  found  herself  agreeing  to  the  arrangement  and 
setting  the  hour  for  them  to  start. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  they  returned  from  their 
drive,  which  had  been  extended  far  beyond  the  village, 
when  Mr.  Carlyle  assisted  Theodora  from  the  carriage, 
he  interrupted  her  thanks  by  saying,  "it  is  I  who 


168  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

have  to  thank  you  for  a  delightful  afternoon.  I  accept 
it  as  a  good  omen  that  the  prejudice  with  which  you  at 
first  regarded  me  is  gradually  wearing  away ;  I  hope 
before  long  it  will  entirely  disappear." 

He  spoke  quite  seriously,  and  Theodora  hardly  knew 
what  to  say,  for  she  had  never  imagined  from  his 
manner  that  he  had  noticed  her  formality  and  coldness : 
while  she  hesitated  Ralph  came  running  up,  and  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  ride  to  the  barn  in  the  new  buggy,  and 
as  Mr.  Carlyle  caught  the  boy  up  and  seated  him  in  it, 
she  took  advantage  of  the  interruption  to  go  into  the 
house  without  making  any  reply. 


THE   HABTWELL  FARM,  169 


^  CHAPTER    XXII. 


MR.    CARLYLE  S   HISTORY. 

"  THEODORA,  shut  up  that  book ;  you  are  trying 
your  eyes  It  is  not  light  enough  for  you  to  see  to 
read  ;  besides,  you  are  losing  this  lovely  evening." 

"  In  one  moment,  father.  I  am  right  in  the  middle 
of  a  very  interesting  chapter;  I'll  stop  the  minute  I 
finish  it." 

The  family  were  on  the  porch,  where  they  spent  all 
their  summer  evenings,  and  Theodora  was  seated  on  the  top 
step,  leaning  forward  to  catch  the  last  of  the  fading  light, 
completely  absorbed  in  her  book.  As  she  finished  the 
chapter  and  closed  the  volume,  Mr.  Carlyle  asked, 
"  What  are  you  reading,  Miss  Theodora,  that  interests 
you  so  much  ?  " 

"It  is  an  old  novel  I  found  in  the  garret,  — '  Felix 
Urquhart,'  —  did  you  ever  read  it?  " 

"I'll  bet  he  never  did!"  exclaimed  Dick,  con- 
temptuously. "'Felix  Urquhart,' — the  name  is 
enough  for  me  !  The  man  who  had  such  a  name  as  that 
must  be  a  flat." 

"  Dick,  I  don't  see  where  you  get  such  horrible  slang," 
replied  Theodora.  "  A  flat  1  indeed,  lean  assure  you 
he  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  as  for  his  name  I  think 
it  is  perfectly  grand." 

"Perfectly  grand!"  repeated  Dick,  in 'a  tone  of 
disgust,  —  "  Felix  Urquhart  a  grand  name  !  Urqu- 
hart is  bad  enough,  but  Felix  is  worse,  —  a  regular, 


170  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

high-flown  novel  name,  and  belongs  to  a  spooney,  I'll 
be  bound." 

"That  shows  just  how  much  you  know  about  it," 
replied  Theodora.  "Felix  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
names  in  the  English  language,  and  I  on^  wish  we  ever 
used  it  here  in  America.  I  used  to  think  I  liked  Max 
just  as  well ;  but  I  don't  now.  I  prefer  a  name  that 
has  some  significance  to  it,  and  what  could  be  more 
beautiful  than  that  of  Felix  ?  '' 

"Why,  Theodora.  I  really  did  not  know  you  had  so 
much  romance  in  you."  said  Mr.  Hartwell,  with  a 
smile  ;  "I  should  have  said  you  would  prefer  a  plain, 
straightforward  John,  or  James,  or  Joseph." 

"  Or  Aminadab,  or  Josiah,  or  Abijah !  "  laughed 
Theodora.  u  No,  father,  I  confess  to  the  romance,  and 
if  any  one  should  ask  me,  '  What's  in  a  name  ?  '  I  should 
reply  at  once,  a  great  deal." 

"  But  a  person  is  not  responsible  for  his  or  her  name," 
remarked  Mr.  Carlyle,  who  had  seemed  very  much 
amused  at  the  conversation,  although  he  had  not  taken 
any  part  in  it;  sometimes  a  very  fine  one  may  be  given 
a  person  whose  characteristics  by  no  means  accord  with 
its  significance." 

"I  know  all  that."  replied  Theodora,  with  a  smile; 
"but  exceptions  prove  the"  rule,  you  know.  At  any 
rate,  I  shall  cling  to  my  Felix  ;  I  know  I  couldn't  help 
admiring  a  man  with  that  name." 

"  Well,  Theodora,  you  haven't  got  as  much  sense  as  I 
gave  you  credit  for  !  "  exclaimed  Dick.  "  You'd  better  go 
on  a  pilgrimage  after  your  high-flown  hero,  and  when 
you  find  him  play  Felicitas  to  his  Felix.  Come  on, 
boys!  This  is  just  the  night  to  catch  glow-worms;  I 
see  a  lot  now  down  in  the  meadow." 

"Miss   Theodora,"   said   Mr.    Carlyle,    as  the   boys 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  171 

rushed  away,  "you  said  you  liked  the  name  of  Max; 
have  you  ever  read  '  A  Life  for  a  Life '  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  ever  have ;  is  it  anything 
new?" 

"Oh,  no  ;$i spoke  of  it  because  the  hero  is  named 
Max,  —  a  grand  fellow ;  quite  after  your  heart,  I  should 
say." 

"  Who  is  it  by  ?  I  shall  certainly  have  to  get  it." 

"Miss  Mulock.  I  have  it,  and  should  be  most  happy 
to  lend  it  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  borrow  it. 
I  only  wish  the  man  was  named  Felix." 

"What  made  me  think  of  him  particularly,  was  the 
fact  of  his  being  named  Urquhart  too,"  replied  Mr. 
Carlyle. 

"Max  Urquhart!"  exclaimed  Theodora;  "what  a 
singular  coincidence !  Oh,  I  know  I  shall  like  him, 
now ;  if  he  is  anything  like  my  Felix  Urquhart  he  must 
be  almost  perfect." 

"Mr.  Carlyle,"  began  Mr.  Hartwell,  in  his  slow, 
musing  way,  "  you  surprise  me  daily  by  showing  a  new 
side  of  a-  character  which  I  flattered  myself  I  already 
understood." 

"How  so.  Mr.  Hartwell?  I  was  not  aware  that  I 
had  a  great  many  peculiarities." 

"Not  peculiarities,  but  traits.  The  two  words, 
although  often  used  to  express  the  same  ideas,  really 
have  a  very  different  meaning.  For  instance,  when  I 
first  became  acquainted  with  you,  and  saw  you  take  hold 
of  this  place  in  such  a  resolute,  go-ahead  way,  and  heard 
your  matter-of-fact,  common-sense  style  of  conversa- 
tion —  My  frankness  does  not  offend  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all ;  on  the  contrary,  it  gratifies 
me,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle. 

"  Well,  as  I  say.  when  I  saw  how  thoroughly  practical 


172  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

you  were  in  all  your  views,  I  fancied  you  were  one  who 
eared-only  for  the  mere  business  of  life;  that  you  only  read 
the  prose,  not  the  poetry,  of  nature.  But  every  day,  as 
I  became  more  thoroughly  acquainted  with  you,  and  you 
began  to  feel  yourself  more  at  home  here. —  for  it  is 
only  when  a  man  does  feel  at  home  that  his  true 
character  shows  itself, —  I  learned  my  mistake.  It  was 
a  perfect  revelation  to  me  when  I  discovered  your  fond- 
ness for  and  skill  in  music ;  your  love  for  flowers ; 
works  of  art,  etc. ;  and  you  are  the  last  man  whom  I 
should  have  thought  would  have  taken  any  interest  in 
works  of  fiction." 

Mr.  Carlyle  smiled.  "I  am  not  surprised  that  you 
took  such  a  view  of  my  character,''  he  said.  "I  have, 
I  think,  more  than  the  usual  amount  of  imagination  in  my 
composition ;  but  circumstances  have  been  such  as  to  force 
me  to  repress,  rather  than  encourage  it.  I  know  that  the 
habitual  expression  of  my  face  is  stern  and  hard  ;  but  per- 
haps you  will  not  wonder  at  that  when  I  give  you  a  sy- 
nopsis of  my  past  life.  Mr.  Hartwell,  I  cannot  express  to 
you  the  gratitude  I  feel  towards  you,  when  I  consider  how 
you  have  made  me,  an  entire  sti'anger  to  you  a  few  months 
ago,  feel  as  if  I  were  one  of  your  family.  You  have  never 
asked  me  a  word  about  my  antecedents,  but  have —  " 

Mr.  Hartwell  interrupted  him,  saying,  in  a  dignified 
but  very  kind  tone,  "Mr.  Carlyle,  I  took  you  for  what  I 
found  you.  Whatever  your  antecedents  may  have  been, 
you  are  a  gentleman,  and  one  whom  I  consider  it  an  honor 
to  number  among  my  friends." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hartwell,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle,  in 
a  tone  of  real  gratitude.  ':  I  know  of  no  one  from  whom 
such  words  would  be  more  pleasing.  I  will  give  you  a 
brief  sketch  of  my  life;  perhaps  it  may  serve  to  explain 
some  things  which  otherwise  might  appear  strange  to  you. 
As  you  of  course  know,  my  name  is  Scotch ;  indeed,  my 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  173 

father  and  mother  were  both  born  in  Edinburgh.  My 
mother  belonged  to  a  ver y  old  family ;  her  parents  were 
as  proud  and  aristocratic  as  they  were  wealthy.  At  six- 
teen she  fell  in  love  with  the  tutor  of  her  only  brother. 
She  tried  hard  to  overcome  her  affection  for  him,  knowing 
only  too  well  that  her  parents  would  never  give  their 
consent  to  her  marriage  with  a  person  so  much  below  her 
own  station  ;  but  it  was  no  use ;  they  were  constantly 
thrown  in  each  other's  society, —  for  my  mother  studied 
several  branches  with  her  brother, —  and  the  result  was 
that  they  eloped  and  were  married.  Her  parents  reso- 
lutely refused  to  see  her  or  do  anything  for  her  support,  and 
in  a  few  months  they  both  emigrated  to  America,  where 
mj  father,  after  trying  in  vain  to  get  a  position  as  tutor, 
either  in  a  private  family  or  school,  was  obliged  to  become 
a  clerk  in  a  counting-house. 

"  The  year  after  they  came  here  I  was  born  ;  my  child- 
hood must  have  been  spent  in  absolute  poverty,  fui  the 
salary  my  father  received  was  hardly  enough  to  support 
us  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  their  privations  and  trouble, 
my  father  and  mother  never  neglected  either  my  moral 
or  mental  education,  and  I  owe  everything  I  now  am  to 
their  early  care  and  training.  My  father's  delicate  con- 
stitution could  not  long  endure  the  close  confinement  of 
the  counting-room ;  he  struggled  on  bravely  as  long  aa 
he  could  possibly  crawl  to  the  office,  but  was  at  last 
obliged  to  give  up,  and  in  a  few  years  died  of  consumption. 
After  that,  until  I  was  fifteen,  my  mother,  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  without  even  the  knowl- 
edge of  work  or  care  of  any  kind,  was  obliged  to  support 
both  herself  and  me"  by  her  needle.  I  shudder  when  I 
think  of  the  privations  she  must  have  endured  ;  but  I  will 
not  speak  of  them  again.  The  firm  with  whom  my  father 
had  been,  manifested  some  interest  in  our  fate,  and  although 
my  mother's  pride  would  not  allow  her  to  receive  direct 


174  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

pecuniary  aid  from  them,  they  were  instrumental  in  finding 
her  work,  and  when  I  was  fifteen  procured  me  a  situation 

in  a  large  commercial  house  in  C .  My  mother 

removed  there  with  me,  and  the  desire  to  earn  money 
enough  to  place  her  above  want  and  care  became  the  one 
aim  of  my  life.  I  worked  early  and  late  ;  I  almost 
wonder  that  my  health  did  not  give  way  under  the  im- 
mense strain  I  put  upon  body  and  mind ;  but  I  was  young, 
and,  thank  God,  blessed  with  a  vigorous  constitution, 
with  which  hard  work  seemed  to  agree.  The  only  relax- 
ation I  allowed  myself  was  music.  I  never  shall  forget 
the  day  when  my  mother  and  I  first  allowed  ourselves 
the  extravagance  of  a  hired  piano.  In  her  girlhood  she  had 
had  a  beautiful  voice,  and  although  it  was  very  much 
weakened,  no  music  in  the  world  ever  seemed  so  sweet 
to  me  as  the  old  Scotch  ballads  when  she  sung  them. 

"  Mr.  Hartwell,  if  I  tire  you,  don't  hesitate  to  say  so; 
you  are  the  first  person  to  whom  I  ever  disclosed  my  his- 
tory, or  opened  my  heart ;  I  did  not  know  when  I  began 
what  a  relief  it  was  to  one  to  speak." 

"  Do  not  cease,  I  beg  of  you,"  replied  Mr.  Hartwell. 
11 1  assure  you  that  in  me  you  find  both  an  interested 
and  sympathizing  listener." 

"  Of  the  latter  I  felt  sure;  but  I  have  little  more  to 
say.  I  prospered  in  business,  and  five  years  ago  became 
junior  partner  in  the  firm  I  had  entered  twelve  years  be- 
fore as  a  boy.  I  bought  a  house,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  my  mother  surrounded,  if  not  by  every  luxury, 
certainly  with  all  the  comforts  of  life.  But  my  greatest 
drearn  was  not  yet  realized ;  I  wished  to  own  a  large 
country  estate,  where  I  knew  she  would  be  happier  than 
in  a  crowded  city.  In  the  early  part  of  last  year  I  read 
in  a  New  York  paper  an  advertisement  for  the  where- 
abouts of  the  daughter,  or  heirs  of  the  daughter,  of  the 
late  Mr.  Walter  Carlyle.  of  Edinburgh.  Unbeknown  to 


THE  HART  WELL  FARM.  175 

my  mother,  I  wrote  to  Edinburgh,  sending  proofs  of  my 
mother's  identity,  and  in  return  received  the  information 
that,  by  the  sudden  death  of  my  grandfather,  who,  strange 
to  say,  had  died  without  a  will,  she  had  fallen  heir  to  all 
his  property,  both  her  mother  and  brother  having  died 
several  years  previous.  I  supposed  that  when  my  mother 
received  the  news  she  would  wish  to  immediately  return 
to  Scotland ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  all  the  old  ties  being 
broken  there,  she  could  not  bear  to  leave  the  country 
where  her  husband  was  buried.  Her  health,  which  had 
for  some  time  been  very  delicate,  began  to  fail  rapidly, 
and  the  physicians  advised  her  to  try  the  sea-air.  Last 
summer  we  came  to  New  England.  She  admired  the 
scenery  extremely ;  it  suited  her  much  better  than  that 
of  the  West,  and  she  desired  to  buy  a  large  farm  some- 
where in  this  locality.  I  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
paper,  the  result  of  which  you  know — •"  Here  Mr.  Car- 
lyle  ceased  speaking  for  a  moment,  then  continued  in  a 
low  voice:  "  The  wealth  came  too  late;  the  day  on 
which  Mr.  Downs  concluded  the  bargain  for  the  Hart- 
well  Farm  I  laid  my  mother  in  the  grave." 

In  the  silence  which  followed,  Mr.  Hartwell  leaned 
forward  and  took  Mr.  Carlyle's  hand  with  a  firm  grasp, 
which  said  far  more  than  words.  Theodora  sat  perfectly 
motionless  ;  she  had  been  deeply  interested  in  Mr.  Car- 
lyle's account  of  his  life,  and  the  sad  and  unexpected  end- 
ing brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  Her  own  recent  sorrow 
made  her  realize  fully  how  great  had  been  his  loss.  When 
she  thought  what  a  trial  it  must  have  been  to  him  to 
come  alone  to  the  place  where  he  had  hoped  his  mother 
would  spend  her  declining  years,  she  reproached  herself 
for  the  formality  and  coldness  with  which  she  had  treated 
him.  She  would  have  been  glad  if  she  could  only  show 
her  sympathy  in  some  way,  but  she  could  not  speak. 

Mr.  Carlyle  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.      "  You 


176  THE    HART  WELL   FARM. 

can  understand,  sir,  how  hard  it  would  have  been  for 
me  to  have  occupied  this  great  house  alone.  Every 
room  I  entered  would  have  mocked  me  with  its  loneliness. 
I  thought,  when  I  came  here,  that  I  could  never  be 
really  happy  again  ;  but  your  kindness,  the  home  feeling 
with  which  I  have  been  surrounded,  combined  with  the 
novelty  of  an  active  out-of-door  life,  have  been  of  the 
greatest  benefit  to  me,  by  making  me  forget  myself." 

"  I  almost  wonder  that  you  did  not  lose  all  interest  in 
the  place,"  remarked  Mr.  Hartwell ;  "indeed,!  can 
hardly  understand  how  you  could  have  the  heart  to  come 
here  at  all." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  think  so,"  replied  Mr. 
Carlyle  ;  "  but  I  am  naturally  fond  of  a  country  life, 
and  although  circumstances  have  always  made  it 
necessary  for  me  to  live  in  a  large  city,  I  have  by  no  means 
followed  my  inclinations,  in  so  doing.  My  connections 
with  my  old  firm  were  entirely  dissolved.  I  am  not  a  man 
who  can  sit  idle,  no  matter  how  much  my  means  might 
appear  to  warrant  such  a  course.  I  must  have  some 
active  work,  of  some  kind,  and  so  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  would  be  to  carry  on  this 
farm,  as  I  had  intended  before  my  mother's  death." 

Mr.  Hartwell  said  nothing  for  some  moments,  then 
rose  as  if  to  go  into  the  house ;  but  as  he  reached  the 
door  he  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  said,  "  Mr. 
Carlyle,  you  know  that  this  farm  belonged  to  my  father 
arid  my  grandfather  before  me.  I  had  fondly  hoped  that 
so  long  as  the  walls  of  this  house  remained  standing, 
some  member  of  my  family  would  find  their  home  under 
its  roof.  But  it  was  not  to  be  ;  I  was  obliged  to  give 
up  my  dream.  I  had  to  sell  the  place ;  but  I  tell  you, 
honestly  and  sincerely,  that  I  know  of  no  one  else  I 
should  be  so  glad  to  look  upon  as  its  owner  as  yourself. 
May  you  live  long  to  enjoy  it ;  may  as  many  blessings, 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  177 

and  as  few  sorrows  as  is  best  for  any  of  us  to  have,  be 
your  portion  so  long  as  you  remain  the  possessor  of  the 
Hart  well  Farm." 

He  turned  and  went  into  the  house  before  Mr. 
Carlyle  could  answer  him.  Theodora  rose  and  followed 
without  a  word :  as  she  passed  Mr.  Carlyle,  he  noticed, 
in  the  bright  moonlight,  that  hei  eyes  were  dimmed  with 
tears. 

';  Could  they  have  been  called  forth  by  sympathy  for 
me,  or  for  her  own  loss?  "  mused  Mr.  Carlyle,  as  he  sat 
alone  on  the  porch  ;  "for  her  own  loss,  of  course ;  I  will 
not  flatter  myself  otherwise." 


178  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THEODORA    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY. 

"SAY,  Dody,  won't  you  go  with  us?  We're  going 
to  have  a  rousing  good  time.  Mr.  Carlyle  has  given 
me  a  fishing-pole  for  my  ownty-donty ;  wasn't  he 
good?" 

"Yes,  I  think  he  was,  very  good.  But,  Ralph, 
where  are  you  going,  and  how  long  do  you  intend  to  be 
gone?" 

"  All  day,  I  s'pose,  or  mighty  near  it.  We're  going 
to  ride  ten  or  twelve  miles,  to  a  place  where  Dick  says 
there  is  a  first-rate  trout-stream ;  we're  going  to  make 
a  fire,  and  boil  coffee,  and  cook  our  fish,  — if  we  get 
any." 

"  Very  well  put  in,"  laughed  Mr.  Carlyle,  who  had 
entered  the  room  in  time  to  hear  the  last  part  of  Ralph's 
remark.  "  But,  Miss  Theodora,  why  won't  you  go  with 
us?  Hasn't  Ralph  been  urging  you  to?  It's  a  perfect 
day ;  the  ride  alone  ought  to  be  sufficient  inducement. 
You  can  take  a  book  to  amuse  yourself  with  while  we 
are  fishing,  if  you  don't  care  to  join  in  the  sport." 

"  Oh,  it's  quite  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  think  of 
going,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I  couldn't  think  of  leaving 
fattier  alone  so  long ;  it  would  be  forlorn  for  him  to  have 
to  sit  down  to  dinner  without  any  of  us." 

"What  is  that  about  me?  "inquired  Mr.  Hartwell, 
who  had  been  deeply  engrossed  with  a  book.  "  Who 
wants  me  to  go  anywhere?  " 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  179 

"No  one,"  laughed  Theodora;  "at  least  I  don't 
think  you  have  received  an  invitation  ;  they  are  —  " 

"I'll  tell  you  just  what  it  is,  father,'"'  interrupted 
Ralph  ;  "  we  are  teasing  Dode  to  goon  atrouting  expedi- 
tion, and  she  says  she  won't,  because  she  doesn't  want  to 
leave  you  alone  at  dinner." 

"Nonsense.  Theodora!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hartwell ; 
"  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  shall  be  thankful  to  have  the 
house  to  myself  to-day.  I  have  some  very  important 
writing  to  do,  and  the  less  noise  there  is  the  better  I 
shall  like  it." 

"  There,  Dode,  you  see  he  doesn't  want  you ;  he  just 
the  same  as  says  your  room  is  better  than  your 
company." 

"Ralph,  keep  stillj"  replied  Theodora.  "It  is  all 
very  well  for  you  to  say  you  want  the  house  quiet, 
father,  but  you  know  you'll  be  very  lonesome  when  it 
comes  dinner-time,  if  I  do  go." 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself,  my  dear,  that  you  are  of  such 
immense  importance;"  at  the  same  time  patting  Theo- 
dora's hand  as  it  rested  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "As 
for  dinner,  all  I  want  is  for  Sarah  to  bring  me  a  cup  of 
tea  and  some  dry  toast  in  the  library.  Now  run  away 
and  get  ready,  and  have  as  good  a  time  as  you  can." 

"  Hurrah  !  "  shouted  Ralph,  tossing  his  cap  in  the 
air  ;  "  this  is  the  first  expedition  this  summer  that  Dode's 
been  on  ;  it  will  be  twice  as  jolly." 

"  Now,  Miss  Theodora,"  remarked  Mr.  Carlyle, 
"  you  see  how  you  have  been  missed." 

"It  is  just  as  well  I  have  stayed  at  home  heretofore," 
she  replied,  with  a  laugh  ;  "I  shall  be  all  the  better 
appreciated  now.  Well,  of  course,  we  shall  want  a 
substantial  lunch  ;  cold  chicken  wouldn't  come  amiss,  I 
suppose,  in  case  the  trout  refuse  to  be  caught." 

"I  rather  think  not,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle.    "I,  for 


180  THE   HARTWELL    FARM. 

one,  can  promise  a  ravenous  appetite,  and  I  guess  the 
boys  won't  be  very  far  behind  me." 

"  Hallo.  Dode, —  you  going?  "  asked  Dick,  as  he  and 
Frank  came  in  with  a  quantity  of  fishing-tackle  in  their 
hands;  "  that's  good.  Give  us  lots  of  grub,  we  shall  be 
hungry  as  bears." 

"  I  will  prepare  you  a  most  excellent  luncheon,"  replied 
Theodora,  primly,  as  she  started  for  the  kitchen  to  con- 
sult with  Sarah  ;  "  grub  I  know  nothing  about." 

About  an  hour  afterwards  the  party  started,  provided 
with  an  immense  hamper,  filled  with  good  things,  a  kettle 
to  boil  their  coffee  in,  —  for  the  boys  positively  rebelled 
against  a  coffee-pot  as  being  altogether  too  conventional 
to  suit  their  idea  of  camp  cooking,  —  and  rods  and  lines 
enough  to  catch  all  the  trout  that  were  ever  found  in 
American  waters. 

It  was  a  perfect  August  day,  and  as  they  rode  along 
through  the  woods  Theodora  could  not  but  be  glad  that 
she  had  consented  to  join  the  party.  As  Ralph  had  said, 
it  was  the  first  one  of  the  boys'  numerous  excursions  which 
she  had  been  on  that  summer ;  for  if  they  had  not  been 
directly  planned  and  instigated  by  Mr.  Carlyle,  it  was 
owing  to  him  that  they  were  carried  out  on  the  present 
somewhat  extensive  scale  ;  and  as  yet  she  had  not  entirely 
overcome  the  feelings  she  had  at  first  entertained  in  regard 
to  him.  It  annoyed  her  to  think  that  he  was  constantly 
showering  favors  upon  them  which  they  ought  to  have 
been  conferring  upon  him ;  even  the  wagon  they  rode  in 
was  his,  as  well  as  the  horse  they  drove,  for  their  own  was 
too  old  to  be  equal  to  such  long  drives.  She  could  not 
forget  that,  notwithstanding  anything  he  might  say 
to  the  contrary,  his  board  was  a  mere  nothing  in 
comparison  to  the  rent  of  the  house  ;  and  to  a  person  of 
her  independent  spirit  this  feeling  of  indebtedness  was 
exceedingly  irritating.  She  acknowledged  that,  as  a 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  181 

whole,  the  summer  had  been  a  very  delightful  and  easy 
one  ;  for  their  increased  means  had  enabled  her  to  hire  a 
girl  to  assist  Sarah  with  the  work,  which  would  otherwise 
have  fallen  upon  herself.  The  freedom  from  care  and 
anxiety  had  strengthened  her  body  as  well  as  refreshed 
her  mind  ;  but  nevertheless  she  knew  she  should  be  thank- 
ful when  the  dreaded  day  of  leaving  the  farm  was  over, 
and  they  no  longer  lived  in  a  house  which  did  not  belong 
to  them. 

But  the  effect  which  Mr.  Carlyle's  account  of  his  life 
had  had  on  her  the  previous  evening  had  not  entirely 
worn  off;  she  felt  more  disposed  to  treat  him  with  cor- 
diality and  freedom  than  she  had  ever  allowed  herself  to 
do,  and  she  determined  to  dismiss  all  unpleasant  reflec- 
tions and  give  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour. 
For  several  miles  their  drive  lay  through  that  portion  of 
the  farm  which  Theodora  had  gone  over  with  Mr.  Downs, 
and  she  could  not  help  contrasting  its  present  flourishing 
condition  with  the  forlorn  aspect  it  had  then  worn.  The 
broken  fences  and  dilapidated  walls  had  been  repaired  ; 
the  stones  and  stubble  cleared  away ;  and  the  fields,  which 
were  then  in  a  condition  of  entire  neglect,  had  been 
ploughed  and  planted,  and  now  presented  broad,  even 
surfaces  covered  with  young  grass,  or  waving  grain 
almost  ripe  for  the  harvest.  It  seemed  almost  incredible 
that  such  wonderful  improvements  could  have  been  made 
in  so  short  a  time,  and  she  could  not  but  entertain  a  feel- 
ing of  respect  for  the  man  whose  energy  and  persever- 
ance had  accomplished  so  much. 

Dick's  ideas  as  to  the  exact  locality  of  the  trout-stream 
appeared  to  be  very  vague  ;  but  after  they  had  ridden  about 
fourteen  miles  they  came  to  a  l>rook,  which  he  insisted 
was  the  right  one  ;  so  they  accordingly  alighted,  took  out 
the  horse  and  fastened  him  under  the  tree,  and  made 
immediate  preparations  for  catching  their  fish.  Theodora 
thought  she  should  enjoy  watching  the  sport,  for  a  while 


182  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

at  least,  so  went  with  the  others  to  the  banks  of  the  stream. 
Mr.  Carlyle;s  face  wore  rather  a  quizzical  expression  aa 
he  put  his  rod  together,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  the  four 
anglers  wandered  up  and  down  the  stream  in  search  of  a 
pool  in  which  they  could  get  a  bite.  But  their  efforts 
met  with  no  success ;  they  went  up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  until  Theodora  became  disgusted  and  strolled  off 
to  gather  ferns  and  mosses. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  enthusiasm  of  the  anglers 
appeared  to  flag,  but  at  last  Dick  exclaimed.  "  I  say,  Mr. 
Carlyle,  I  think  this  is  mighty  slow  work  ;  I  don't 
believe  there  is  a  single  trout  in  this  brook." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that  in  the  first  place,"  replied 
Mr.  Carlyle  as  he  reeled  in  his  line;  "but  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  let  you  find  it  out  for  yourself." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Dick,  in  surprise. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  like  trotting  up  and  down  this  old 
bank  all  the  morning,  dangling  a  line  over  water  that 
hasn't  got  any  fish  in  it?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  do  ;  I'm  sure  I  don't.  On 
the  other  hand,  do  you  suppose  that  anything  I  could 
have  said  to  the  contrary  would,  have  convinced  you  that 
this  was  not  a  trout-brook  until  you  had  tried  it  your- 
self?" 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  it  would,"  replied  Dick,  frankly, 
pushing  his  hat  back  from  his  hot  face.  "  I  know  I'm 
as  stubborn  as  a  mule,  and  experience  is  the  only  thing 
that  ever  could  teach  me." 

"  Well,  I  think  it's  pretty  rough  on  us,  anyhow,"  grum- 
bled Frank  ;  "  I'm  just  about  starved,  and  almost  roasted. 
I  think  trouting's  a  humbug."  . 

"  So  do  I,"  put  in  poor  little  Ralph,  who  had  man- 
fully held  out  as  long  as  the  rest ;  "  but  there's  one  com- 
fort,—  Dode's  got  a  lot  of  chicken  and  things  in  her  bas- 
ket; let's  have  lunch." 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  183 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  are  all  about  ready  to  do  it  justice," 
said  Mr.  Carlyle.  "  But  where  is  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Theodora  !  Theodora  !  "  shouted  Dick.  "  Hallo  ! 
we're  going  to  have  luncheon  " 

."  But  where  are  your  fish  ?  "  asked  Theodora,  as  she 
came  from  a  neighboring  thicket,  her  hands  filled  with 
ferns.  "  I  thought  you  were  to  cook  some  for  dinner." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  trout,  for  mercy's  sake,"  said 
Dick  ;  "  there  aren't  any  in  the  brook.  I  tell  you  what, 
suppose  we  give  up  the  coffee  ;  I  for  one  don't  feel  like 
broiling  myself  over  a  fire." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  laughed  Theodora,  "I  had 
some  doubts  about  your  camp-cooking,  and  I  took  the 
precaution  to  bring  a  large  bottle  of  coffee  already  pre- 
pared, in  case  yours  should  not  come  out  all  right." 

"  Theodora,  you're  a  brick  !  "  exclaimed  Dick,  with 
more  earnestness  than  elegance;  "just  give  me  the 
bottle,  and  I'll  put  it  in  the  brook,  to  get  real  cold,  and 
it'll  be  ten  times  better  than  any  stuff  we'd  make." 

The  hamper  was  soon  opened,  and  all  went  to  work 
with  a  good  will  to  demolish  its  contents.  It  was  found 
to  contain  so  many  things  to  tempt  the  appetite  that  the 
absence  of  fish  was  not  mourned  over.  The  cold  coffee 
proved  very  acceptable,  and  all  pronounced  the  feast  a  per- 
fect success.  When  the  basket  was  again  repacked,  Mr. 
Carlyle  lighted  a  cigar,  and  stretched  himself  on  the  grass, 
while  the  boys  wandered  off  into  the  woods,  and  Theo- 
dora amused  herself  arranging  her  ferns. 

"0  Miss  Theodora,"  said  Mr.  Carlyle,  in  a  few  min- 
utes, jumping  up  and  going  to  the  wagon,  "  here  is  the 
book  I  promised  to  lend  you.  I  threw  it  into  the  wagon 
the  last  moment." 

"  Thanks  !  it  could  not  have  come  at  a  more  apt  time 
I  shall  proceed  at  once  to  make  Max's  acquaintance." 

As  she  put  up  her  hand  for  the  book  it  suddenly  slipped 


184  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

from  Mr.  Carlyle's  fingers  and  fell  to  the  ground ;  they 
both  reached  forward  and  caught  hold  of  it  at  the  same 
time.  It  had  opened  as  it  fell,  and  in  the  second  in  which 
they  both  held  it  between  them,  Theodora  read  on  the 
fly-leaf,  written  in  the  bold,  firm  hand  she  knew  so  well, 
—  "Felix  Carlyle." 

She  let  go  of  the  book  as  if  it  burnt  her  fingers,  and 
glanced  up  quickly  at  Mr.  Carlyle,  her  face  flushing 
crimson.  He  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  then  his  eye 
fell  on  the  open  page  in  his  hand,  and  in  an  instant  he 
divined  the  cause  of  her  sudden  movement.  "  Miss  The- 
odora," he  began. 

But  she  interrupted  him  with  an  impatient  gesture 
as  she  sprang  to  her  feet :  "  Don't  say  a  word,  I  beg  of 
you  ;  there  is  no  need  of  adding  to  my  mortification." 

"  But  why  should  you  feel  any  mortification?  "  asked 
Mr  Carlyle.  while  at  the  same  time  he  understood  per- 
fectly that  to  a  girl  of  her  sensitive  pride  such  a  discov- 
ery, after  what  she  had  said  in  his  presence,  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  extremely  annoying.  "  I  know  per- 
fectly well  that  when  you  so  extolled  the  name  of  Feliy 
last  night,  you  were  entirely  unaware  that  it  was  my 
own." 

"  You  might  at  least  have  spared  me  the  embarrass- 
ment of  making  the  discovery  in  your  presence,"  she 
replied,  with  flashing  eyes  and  hot  cheeks.  "It  is 
but  fair  to  myself  to  say  that  my  ridiculous  and  senti- 
mental raving  over  a  mere  name  was  an  exaggeration  of 
what  I  really  felt,  assumed  more  for  the  sake  of  rousing 
Dick's  indignation  than  for  any  other  reason." 

"  I  believe  you,  Miss  Theodora,  and  I  also  expect  you 
to  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  had  forgotten  my  name 
was  written  in  full  in  the  front  of  this  book.  I  rarely  ever 
sign  it  with  anything  more  than  my  initials,  so  that  I  am 
sure  you  could  not  have  known  what  it  was.  I  could 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  185 

not  help  smiling  last  night  when  I  heard  you  assigning 
virtues  to  whoever  might  bear  the  apellation  of  Felix, 
which  I  knew  perfectly  well  did  not  belong  at  least  to  one 
oi  that  name." 

"  Mr.  Carlyle,"  replied  Theodora,  "  you  seem  to 
thoroughly  enjoy  placing  me  in  an  awkward  position 
in  regard  to  yourself ;  this  is  the  second  time  you  —  " 
She  stopped  suddenly  and  bit  her  lip  ;  in  her  excitement 
she  had  said  more  than  she  had  intended. 

"  Miss  Hartwell,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle,  in  a  dignified 
tone,  "  I  am  unaware  that  I  have  ever  intentionally 
placed  you  in  an  awkward  position  in  regard  to  myself. 
I  think  I  understand  to  what  you  allude  ;  probably  the 
fact  of  my  entering  a  family  which  was  presided  over  by 
so  young  a  lady  as  yourself;  but  you  must  not  forget 
that  when  I  wrote  for  permission  to  do  so,  I  was  as 
unaware  of  your  age  as  you  were  of  mine.  I  have  seen, 
from  the  first  day  I  entered  your  home,  that  you  considered 
your  position  in  regard  to  me  an  unusual  and  embarrass- 
ing one.  I  respected  the  delicacy  which  led  you  to  feel 
so,  and  have  endeavored  in  every  way  to  make  myself  as 
little  objectionable  to  you  as  possible.  I  see  that  I  have 
failed  to  do  so ;  but  it  has  been  my  misfortune,  not  my 
fault" 

Theodora  said  nothing  for  some  moments ;  she  knew 
that  every  word  Mr.  Carlyle  spoke  was  true,  and  as  he 
stood  before  her,  calm  and  dignified,  but  with  a  slight  ex- 
pression of  reproach  on  his  face,  she  could  not  help  ac- 
knowledging to  herself  that  he  was  every  way  worthy  of 
the  name  she  so  much  admired.  There  was  a  struggle 
between  wounded  pride  and  generosity  going  on  in  her 
heart ;  the  latter  would  have  conquered  and  forced  her  to 
openly  acknowledge  the  kindness  and  delicate  considera- 
tion she  had  invariably  received  from  the  man  before 
her  ;  but  the  remark  Dick  had  made  in  Mr.  Carlyle'a 


186  THE    II  ART  WELL    FARM. 

presence  rang  in  her  ears  :  ' '  You  had  better  go  on  a 
pilgrimage  after  your  hero,  and  when  you  find  him  play 
Felicitas  to  his  Felix."  They  froze  the  words  on  her 
lips ;  she  would  not  make  any  admission  which  could  be 
construed  into  a  recognition  of  virtues  in  him  which  she 
had  extolled  as  belonging  to  her  ideal  Felix.  "I  am 
aware,  Mr.  Carlyle,"  she  said  coldly,  "  that  I,  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  my  family,  am  very  much  indebted  to  you ; 
but  I  assure  you  it  has  been  no  easy  thing  for  me  to  re- 
ceive as  a  favor  at  your  hands  what  has  for  so  many  years 
been  mine  by  right.  I  own  it  is  your  consideration  only 
which  has  allowed  us  to  remain  in  a  house  over  which  we, 
legally,  have  no  longer  control ;  but  I  shall  do  everything 
in  my  power  to  render  our  stay  as  short  as  possible." 

She  turned  with  a  haughty  movement  of  the  head,  and 
would  have  walked  away,  but  he  stepped  before  her  and 
put  out  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  command.  He  was 
evidently  struggling  to  control  himself  ;  he  was  very  pale, 
but  his  voice  came  even  lower  and  slower  than  usual  as 
he  said,  "  Miss  Theodora,  I  insist  that  you  shall  not  urge 
your  father  to  leave  the  Hartwell  Farm  before  the  time  on 
which  we  agreed." 

"  And  what  right  have  you  to  insist  that  I  shall  or 
shall  not  do  anything  I  may  see  fit  ?  "  asked  Theodora, 
indignantly. 

"  The  right  which  your  unjust  treatment  of  me  alone 
gives.  I  ask  nothing  at  your  hands ;  your  words  prove 
that,  towards  me  at  least,  you  are  incapable  of  entertain- 
ing a  generous  emotion ;  but  for  your  father's  sake,  I  re- 
peat, I  insist  you  shall  do  nothing  to  cause  him  to  leave 
a  place  where  he  is  evidently  happier  than  he  can  ever 
be  anywhere  else." 

"  And  I  repeat,  that  you  have  no  right  whatever  to  in- 
sist upon  anything  of  the  kind,"  replied  Theodora,  hotly. 
"My  father  would  never  wish  to  remain  another  day  in 


THE    HARTWELL    FARM.  187 

that  house,  if  he  even  suspected  the  annoyances  to  which 
I  am  subjected.  I  have  but  one  thing  to  ask,  and  that 
is  that  you  will  immediately  call  the  boys,  and  let  us  re- 
turn home  at  once,  and  I  assure  you  it  is  the  last  favor, 
however  trifling,  I  will  ever  receive  from  you." 

"Miss  Theodora,  you  are  angry  now,"  quietly  replif.d 
Mr.  Carlyle.  "I  shall  be  very  much  mistaken  in  rny 
estimate  of  your  character,  if  you  do  not  soon  regret  the 
hasty  words  you  have  just  said." 

"  Never !  "  replied  Theodora,  emphatically,  as  she 
turned  and  walked  towards  the  wagon. 

The  boys  came  at  Mr.  Carlyle's  call,  and  they  were 
all  soon  on  their  homeward  drive.  Happily  the  younger 
members  of  the  party  were  in  an  extremely  garrulous 
mood,  so  the  silence  of  the  older  ones  passed  unnoticed. 
As  they  reached  the  porch  Mr.  Carlyle  jumped  out  and 
offered  his  hand  to  Theodora,  with  his  usual  courtesy,  to 
assist  her  to  alight ;  but  she  took  no  notice  of  it  what- 
ever, and  sprang  past  him  without  a  word. 


188  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

AN   EMBARRASSING    MEETING. 

DATS  and  weeks  passed,  autumn  had  actually  arrived, 
and  yet  Theodora  had  said  nothing  to  her  father  about 
leaving  the  Hartwell  Farm.  She  said  to  herself  daily 
that  Mr.  Carlyle's  command  had  nothing  to  do  with  her 
disinclination  to  do  so  ;  that  it  was  her  own  dread  of  sug- 
gesting a  change  which  she  knew  would  be  so  trying  to 
him,  which  prevented  her  from  saying  anything  about  it. 

Her  intercourse  with  Mr.  Carlyle  since  the  day  of  the 
unpleasant  discovery  she  had  made  in  regard  to  his 
name,  and  which  was  followed  by  their  stormy  conversa- 
tion, had  been  of  a  somewhat  peculiar  nature.  She 
dared  not  treat  him  rudely,  as  she  would  have  at  first 
been  positively  glad  to  do,  for  fear  of  attracting  the 
attention  and  comments  of  her  father  and  the  boys,  and 
thus  causing  an  explanation  of  their  quarrel,  which 
would  have  been  anything  but  agreeable.  When  her 
anger  died  away,  and  she  thought  how  unkind  and  un- 
just her  words  to  Mr.  Carlyle  really  had  been,  she  had 
felt  thoroughly  ashamed,  but  she  would  not  acknowledge 
that  such  was  the  fact.  She  wondered  if  he  thought  she 
refrained  from  forcing  their  departure  on  account  of  what 
he  had  said,  and  watched  him  narrowly  but  stealthily,  to 
see  if  she  could  gather  anything  from  his  appearance  or 
conversation  which  would  enlighten  her  as  to  his  opinion 
of  her  present  course.  But  she  might  as  well  have 
expected  a  bronze  statue  to  open  its  lips  and  answer  her 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  189 

questions,  as  for  that  stern,  quiet  face  to  reveal  anything 
which  its  owner  wished  to  conceal.  There  was  no  dif- 
ference in  his  bearing  towards  her,  other  than  the  fact 
that  he  now  never  addressed  her  unless  necessity  required, 
then  he  spoke  in  the  same  courteous  manner,  and  looked  at 
her  with  the  same  unflinching  eyes  as  ever.  At  first 
there  had  been  a  shade  of  defiance  in  her  manner  towards 
him,  but  that  soon  disappeared  before  the  impenetrable 
calmness  and  dignity  of  his  demeanor.  At  first  she 
rather  enjoyed  being  left  alone  in  the  room  with  him  ;  it 
gave  her  an  opportunity  of  showing  how  entirely  indif- 
ferent she  was  to  him,  by  appearing  to  utterly  ignore  his 
presence.  If  he  chanced  to  enter  the  sitting-room  when 
she  was  busy  sewing,  singing  aloud  as  she  worked,  she 
continued  singing  in  the  most  nonchalant  manner  pos- 
sible; if  she  happened  to  be  at  the  piano,  she  practised 
her  scales  with  a  persistency  which  would  certainly  have 
won  encomiums  from  the  most  exacting  of  masters ;  but 
she  soon  abandoned  this  system  when,  upon  looking  up 
from  the  piano  one  day,  where  she  had  been  playing,  for 
about  half  an  hour,  one  of  the  most  torturing  exercises 
she  possessed,  she  caught  sight  of  an  amused  smile  on  his 
face  as  he  sat  by  the  fire.  She  rose  instantly ;  that  smile 
of  amusement  irritated  her  more  than  a  torrent  of  angry 
words  could  have  done ;  it  made  her  feel  like  a  silly  lit- 
tle child,  whose  petty  attempts  at  annoying  an  elder  are 
considered  unworthy  of  notice.  From  that  time  she 
avoided  being  left  with  Mr.  Carlyle  for  a  moment,  but 
if  by  chance  they  were  thrown  together,  she  found  her- 
self exceedingly  uncomfortable.  The  sang-froid  on  which 
she  had  so  prided  herself  had  entirely  deserted  her;  she 
found  herself  embarrassed,  without  a  cause.  If  she 
looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  as  she  often 
did,  with  a  strangely  earnest  expression,  her  own  in- 
stantly fell,  and  she  was  obliged  to  do  something  to  cover 


190  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

her  confusion.  Whenever  she  heard  his  step  in  the  hall, 
her  heart  began  to  beat  violently,  and  her  fingers  to 
tremble  in  a  most  unaccountable  and  annoying  way. 

She  was  provoked  with  herself  when  she  noticed  all 
these  little  changes  in  her  feelings.  "  What  does  it 
mean?  "  she  asked  herself  one  day,  as  she  sat  alone  in 
her  room.  "What  is  there  about  that  man  that  he 
should  so  powerfully  move  me?  It  is  his  indomitable 
will ;  he  will  control  every  one  who  comes  within  his 
reach.  I  recognized  that  quality  in  him  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  him.  I  rebelled  against  it  then,  and  I'll  rebel 
against  it  now.  He  shall  not  have  such  an  influence 
over  me  ;  he  shall  learn  that  there  is  one  person,  at  least, 
who  defies  him." 

Just  as  she  had  said  these  words  to  herself,  Ralph 
came  running  into  the  room,  exclaiming,  "  Come,  Dode, 
won't  you  go  nutting  with  rne?  I  haven't  anything  to 
do.  Frank  and  Dick  have  gone  off  somewhere  with 
father,  and  Mr.  Carlyle's  down  at  the  village ;  I  think 
you  might  go." 

"  Isn't  it  too  early  for  nuts  ?  "  asked  Theodora.  "  We 
haven't  had  any  frost  yet  to  speak  of." 

"  I  know  that,  but  I  guess  we  can  get  some  walnuts ; 
at  any  rate,  we  can  have  the  fun  of  trying.  I  want  to 
get  some  to  take  to  Boston  with  us  for  the  winter." 

"  But,  Ralph,  you've  no  right  to  take  the  nuts  away; 
you  forget  that  the  place  and  everything  on  it  belongs  to 
Mr.  Carlyle." 

"Well,  Theodora,  you  must  think  he's  mighty  mean 
if  he  wouldn't  let  me  have  as  many  nuts  as  I  wanted. 
There'll  be  more  on  the  place  this  year  than  he  could 
eat  if  he  lived  here  forever.  Besides,  you  know  he 
wants  us  boys  to  do  just  the  same  as  we  always  have. 
What  makes  you  feel  so  queer  towards  him?  Some- 
times I  really  believe  you  almost  hate  him." 


THE    HARTWELL   FARM.  191 

"  Hush,  Ralph  !  You  don't  know  what  you're  talk- 
ing about,"  replied  Theodora,  rising  and  going  to  her 
closet.  "  I'll  go  with  you,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  walk. 
Wait  a  minute  until  I  twitch  the  trimming  off  this  hat ; 
it  will  be  more  convenient  than  my  great  sundown. 

While  Theodora  was  speaking  she  had  opened  a  band- 
box and  taken  out  her  sailor  hat,  which  she  had  not  had 
on  since  the  previous  summer,  and  proceeded  to  take  off 
the  long  velvet  streamers  and  little  aigrette  of  bright 
feathers.  It  was  soon  done,  and,  tying  a  plain  black 
ribbon  round  the  crown,  she  put  it  on,  and  declared  her- 
self ready  for  a  start. 

The  day  was  lovely,  the  air  soft  and  mild,  —  a  real 
Indian-summer  day.  The  trees  had  already  assumed 
their  autumn  dress  of  red  and  yellow,  heightening  the 
beauty  of  the  landscape  by  their  gorgeous  coloring.  As 
Theodora  looked  about  her,  a  pang  of  regret  went  through 
her  heart,  as  she  thought  how  soon  she  must  tear  her- 
self forever  from  all  this  loveliness  ;  but  she  had  not 
much  opportunity  for  unpleasant  reflections,  for  Ralph's 
spirits  were  irrepressible ;  he  was  truly  elated  at  the 
prospect  of  having  her  all  to  himself  for  a  "jolly  good 
time,'''  as  he  expressed  it,  and  he  soon  imbued  her  with 
some  of  his  liveliness. 

"  Come,  Dode,  don't  lag  along  like  an  old  woman  !  " 
he  cried ;  "  let's  see  who'll  get  down  this  hill  and  over  to 
that  big  walnut  tree  first." 

"  Agreed,"  replied  Theodora.  "  I'll  soon  show  you 
that  I'm  not  an  old  woman  yet.  Start  fair." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  began  Ralph,  with  a 
flourish,  addressing  an  imaginary  audience,  "the  men  in 
this  race  will  start  at  the  word  '  Go  !  '  Now  — are  you 
ready?  — Go!  " 

Off  they  shot  like  arrows.  Theodora  had  by  no 
means  lost  her  old  fleetness  of  foot,  and  she  rushed 


192  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

along,  soon  distancing  her  small  brother.  Her  hat  flew 
off,  arid,  as  she  reached  the  goal,  her  hair  unloosed  itself 
from  its  fastenings,  and  came  tumbling  down  her  back  in 
a  great  wavy  mass.  u  Who's  an  old  woman  now,  I 
wonder?  "  she  cried,  as  she  leaned  against  the  tree,  out 
of  breath.  "  Don't  you  want  another  race  ?  " 

"I  tell  you  what,"  panted  Ralph,  "you  just  take 
the  wind  right  out  of  a  fellow.  An  old  woman,  I  guess 
you're  not ;  you  don't  look  much  like  one  with  your 
hair  all  down  that  way.  Don't  put  it  up,  Dody,  don't; 
let  it  go,  just  to  please  me  ;  it  makes  you  look  just  as 
you  used  to." 

"  Well,  bring  me  my  hat,"  laughed  Theodora  ;  "  you 
always  were  a  little  goose  about  my  hair,  and,  to  please 
you,  I'll  let  it  go  until  we  start  for  home.  Pick  up 
those  hair-pins,  and  I'll  put  them  in  my  pocket." 

"  You're  just  the  best  sister  in  the  world,"  replied 
Ralph,  as  he  handed  her  her  hat.  "  Now  you  give  me 
a  boost,  and  I'll  shin  up  this  tree  in  a  jiffy  ;  and  then 
you  see  if  I  don't  pelt  you  with  nuts." 

Amid  much  scrambling,  some  slight  injury  to  trowsers, 
and  a  great  deal  of  laughter,  Theodora  at  last  succeeded 
in  giving  Ralph  a  "boost,"  which  enabled  him  to  grasp 
a  stout  branch  and  pull  himself  up  into  the  tree.  The 
nuts  were  much  more  plenty  than  Theodora  had 
supposed,  as  she  soon  realized,  for  they  came  down  on 
her  much  faster  than  she  could  dodge  them  ;  but  she 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  frolic,  and  sprang  to  the 
right  and  left,  paying  back  with  interest  all  the  hits  she 
received.  The  woods  fairly  rang  with  their  shouts  of 
laughter.  Suddenly  Ralph  cried  out,  from  the  top  of 
the  tree,  "  Stop  a  minute,  Dode,  stop  !  Who's  that  just 
behind  you  ?  " 

Theodora  turned  quickly,  and  there,  directly  behind 


THB    HART  WELL   FARM.  193 

her,  stood  Mr.  Carlyle.  As  she  turned  upon  him,  an 
exclamation  of  astonishment  escaped  his  lips,  and  the 
expression  of  his  face  changed  from  one  of  amusement  to 
that  of  intense  surprise.  "Miss  Theodora,  I  see  it  all 
now ;  I  only  wonder  —  " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  gesture  which  had  in  it 
quite  as  much  of  entreaty  as  of  impatience,  "  Am  I 
always  to  meet  you  under  such  awkward  circumstances?" 
she  cried.  "  Do  you  follow  me  about  with  the  intention 
of  annoying  me?  If  that  is  your  object  you  can 
certainly  flatter  yourself  with  your  success." 

Before  Mr.  Carlyle  could  reply,  and  as  Theodora 
pulled  off  her  hat  and  began  to  hastily  twist  up  her 
unfortunate  locks.  Ralph  shouted  down,  "  I  say,  Mr. 
Carlyle,  doesn't  she  look  like  a  little  girl  with  her  hair 
down?" 

"  She  certainly  does,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle,  with 
emphasis,  looking  directly  at  Theodora.  "  If  I  had  met 
her  anywhere  with  it  in  that  condition,  I  should  have 
mistaken  her  for  one." 

Theodora  said  nothing,  but  turned  to  go  up  the  hill  ; 
but  Mr.  Carlyle  placed  himself  in  front  of  her,  saying  as 
he  did  so,  "  Miss  Theodora,  do  not  go  until  you  have 
assured  me  that  this  time  at  least  you  will  believe  me 
when  I  say  that  I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of 
annoying  you." 

Theodora  would  not  allow  herself  to  look  at  him  ;  she 
was  mortified  and  angry  ;  yet  that  power  which  she  had 
determined  to  defy  was  fast  asserting  itself  over  her. 
She  would  not  trust  herself  to  speak  ;  springing  to  one 
side,  she  shot  past  him  up  the  hill  before  he  was  aware 
of  her  intentions. 


194  THE   HART  WELL   FARM. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  yet  nothing  was  said  by  any  one 
in  regard  to  the  departure  of  the  family  from  the  farm. 
Theodora  had  hoped  that  her  father  would  inform  her 
when  he  wished  to  make  the  final  move ;  but  the  idea 
never  seemed  to  occur  to  him,  and  she  felt  that  she 
could  no  longer  put  off  making  the  dreaded  suggestion  to 
him.  Six  weeks  ago  she  would  have  almost  hailed  the 
day  with  delight,  all  other  feelings  sinking  into  insignifi- 
cance beside  the  relief  she  knew  she  should  feel  when  once 
out  of  the  house  which  no  longer  belonged  to  them ;  but 
as  the  day  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  her  attachment  for 
the  old  farm  again  reasserted  itself,  and  overpowered  all 
lesser  emotions. 

Unbeknown  to  her  father  she  went  about  the  un- 
occupied rooms,  gathering  up  the  various  little  ornaments 
and  packing  them  away.  Each  apartment  she  entered, 
everything  she  touched,  called  up  memories  which  she 
had  supposed  long  since  dead, —  little  scenes  of  her 
childhood  which  she  had  entirely  forgotten,  and  with 
which  the  memory  of  her  mother  was  closely  entwined. 
She  found  herself  wandering  about  the  house  in  an  aim- 
less way,  looking  from  first  one  window  then  another, 
with  a  feeling  of  homesickness  at  her  heart,  as  if  she  had 
already  left  the  dear  place.  She  looked  up  at  the 
family  portraits,  which  had  smiled  down  upon  her  from 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  195 

her  babyhood,  and  wondered  if  they  could  ever  look  the 
same  on  other  and  newer  walls. 

The  house  was  a  singular  one  ;  it  had  originally  been 
plain  and  unpretending  in  exterior,  although  large  and 
substantial,  but  her  father  and  grandfather  had  both 
made  additions  to  it,  which,  by  increasing  its  irregularity, 
added  greatly  to  the  picturesqueness  of  its  appearance. 
A  wing  had  been  thrown  out  at  the  east,  and  a  large 
bow-window  built  on  to  the  sitting-room,  extending  up 
to  the  room  above.  Its  gambrel-roof,  huge  old-fashioned 
chimneys,  and  ivy-covered  walls  made  it  peculiarly 
charming  to  any  one  who  had  an  affection  for  antiquated 
buildings,  and  Theodora  felt  that  no  modern  house, 
however  elegant,  could  ever  seem  so  beautiful  to  her. 

She  had  been  sitting  for  hours  one  afternoon  in  the 
room  in  which  her  mother  had  died  ;  she  had  resolved  that 
the  next  day  should  not  pass  without  her  having  re- 
minded her  father  that  it  was  now  time  for  them  to  leave 
the  Hartwell  Farm.  The  time  had  passed  almost  uncon- 
sciously to  her,  and  the  room  grew  dark  and  cold  before 
she  was  aware  how  late  it  was ;  she  rose  and  went  slowly 
downstairs  and  entered  the  sitting-room.  It  appeared  to 
be  empty  ;  a  bright  fire  burned  cheerfully  in  the  grate, 
and  cast  a  circle  of  ruddy  light  immediately  in  front  of 
it,  but  the  rest  of  the  room  remained  in  deep  shadow. 
Theodora  went  up  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood  for  some  min- 
utes, her  head  leaning  against  the  mantel-shelf,  lost  in 
thought.  Unconsciously  she  exclaimed  aloud,  ' '  I  cannot, 
cannot  bear  it !  How  can  I  leave  my  dear  old  home  ?  " 

There  was  a  movement  in  one  of  the  dark  corners  of 
the  room,  and  as  she  lifted  her  head  quickly,  Mr.  Carlyle 
came  out  of  the  gloom  into  the  brightness  of  the  firelight. 
Theodora  would  have  fled  from  the  room,  but  he  inter- 
cepted her,  saying,  "Miss  Theodora,  give  me  a  few 
moments,  I  beg  of  you.  I  have  been  trying  for  a  week 


196  THE   HARTWELL   FARM. 

to  get  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  you  ;  but  you  avoided 
me  in  every  way." 

"  Let  me  go  !  let  me  go  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  did  not 
know  you  were  here ;  I  thought  I  was  alone." 

"I  know  you  did,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle,  effectually 
barring  her  escape.  "  I  would  have  spoken  the  moment 
you  entered,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  startle  you  away." 

"It  would  have  been  far  better  if  you  had,"  replied 
Theodora,  retreating  again  to  the  fireplace,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  assume  a  coldness  she  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle  ;  "  but 
I  cannot  regret  it,  since  it  has  been  the  means  of  giving 
me  the  opportunity  I  so  much  wished  for.  A  moment 
ago  you  asked  yourself  how  you  could  leave  your  dear 
old  home  ?  I  answer  you,  that  the  choice  to  remain  or 
go  rests  only  with  yourself." 

Theodora  was  deeply  agitated,  but  she  determined  not 
to  allow  her  feelings  to  betray  themselves.  "Such  a 
choice  is  impossible  for  me,  as  you  certainly  must  know," 
she  said.  "  I  confess  that  my  grief  at  leaving  the  place 
is  far  greater  than  you  can  possibly  suppose,  but  never- 
theless I  could  no  longer  remain  in  this  house,  holding  the 
position  which  I  now  have." 

"Nor  do  I  ask  you  to,"  replied  Mr.  Carlyle,  advanc- 
ing nearer;  "  I  ask  you  to  remain  here  as  my  wife." 

Theodora  gave  a  quick  gasp ;  she  locked  her  fingers 
firmly  together  as  she  leaned  against  the  mantel-piece  for 
support ;  she  could  not  speak,  and  yet  Mr.  Carlyle  stood 
silently  before  her.  At  last  her  words  came  slowly  and 
hoarsely,  "  Mr.  Carlyle,  you  once  told  me  that  I  was 
incapable  of  entertaining  a  generous  emotion  toward  you. 
I  tell  you  now  that  I  have  always  thought  too  highly  of 
you  to  believe  you  capable  of  asking  a  woman  to  be  your 
wife  whom  you  did  not  love ;  of  offering  her  a  home,  when 
you  had  no  heart  to  give  her." 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  197 

' '  Theodora  !  Theodora  !  "  he  cried,  passionately, 
"will  you  always  thus  persistently  misunderstand  me? 
A  week  ago  I,  for  the  first  time,  recognized  in  you  the 
girl  whom  I  met  on  the  rocks  at  Scranton  ;  then  I  looked 
upon  you  as  a  child ;  now  I  recognize  you  as  a  woman, 
and  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved."  He  paused  a 
moment,  then,  as  Theodora  remained  silent,  continued  : 
"I  know  you  have  entertained  towards  me  a  feeling  of 
antagonism  for  which  I  have  in  vain  tried  to  account ; 
but  my  sudden  recognition  of  you  the  other  day  furnished 
me  with  a  clue  which  partially  unravelled  the  mystery. 
0  Theodora,  have  you  not  overcome  the  resentment 
which  you  entertained  toward  me  when  I  treated  you,  aa 
what  I  really  thought  you  were,  a  headstrong,  reckless 
child  ?  Every  day  that  I  have  lived  under  the  same  roof 
with  you  has  strengthened  and  increased  the  love  I  feel 
for  you.  Do  you  think  I  would  offer  you  my  home,  if 
my  heart  did  not  go  with  it?  No,  Theodora,  no,  I  would 
not  offer  any  woman  such  an  insult.  I  know  you  think 
me  stern  and  hard  ;  but  when  you  think  what  my  life  has 
been,  you  cannot  wonder  that  I  appear  so  ;  it  is  for  you 
to  teach  me  to  be  otherwise.  I  know  that  you  have  con- 
sidered my  will  as  indomitable ;  that  I  have  wished  to 
control  everything  around  me.  If  that  were  so  I  should 
force  you  to  love  me ;  but  I  wish  for  no  such  love.  It 
must  come  to  me  voluntarily ;  it  must  be  strong  enough 
to  break  down  all  the  barriers  of  pride  and  resentment 
which  you  may  build  around  it,  and  come  to  me  in  spite 
of  everything.  But  a  little  over  a  year  ago  I  held  you 
in  my  arms  against  your  will ;  now  I  hold  them  open  to 
receive  you,  but  you  must  enter  them  of  your  own  accord. 
Theodora  !  will  you  come?  " 

Theodora  had  stood,  while  he  was  speaking,  with  her 
head  buried  in  her  hands ;  but  every  word  he  uttered 
found  its  echo  in  her  wildly  beating  heart.  She  recog- 


198  THE  HART  WELL  FARM. 

nized  now  the  unknown  power  which  she  had  acknowl- 
edged to  herself  had  such  control  over  her ;  it  assailed  her 
with  overpowering  force.  She  grew  dizzy ;  a  feeling  of 
faintness  overcame  her,  and  her  limbs  trembled  beneath 
her.  She  raised  her  head  for  an  instant,  put  out 
her  hands  with  a  supplicating  gesture,  and  tottered  for- 
ward into  the  arms  that  were  held  towards  her.  Those 
arms  closed  round  her ;  they  held  her  in  a  fond  embrace, 
which  she  no  longer  had  either  the  strength  or  desire  to 
resist.  For  some  moments  neither  spoke ;  then,  as  Mr. 
Carlyle  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  he  said,  gently, 
"Look  up,  my  Theodora;  look  up  but  for  one  moment. 
Let  me  hear  my  name  but  once  from  your'lips." 

Theodora  raised  her  eyes  to  his ;  she  could  hardly 
command  her  voice.  But  the  word  came  faintly,  "Felix." 

The  face  she  had  often  thought  so  stern  and  resolute 
was  fairly  radiant,  as  he  asked,  "Is  this  my  Felicitas?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  smiling  through  her  tears. 
"  Oh,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  my  hasty  words,  my 
folly,  my  unjust,  ungenerous  treatment  of  you  that  day 
when  I  discovered  what  your  name  was?  " 

"Can  I  forgive  you?"  he  repeated,  smiling  down  on 
her.  "Yes,  I  think  so,  since  you  repent  of  it  at  last; 
then,  you  know,  you  said  you  never  would." 

"I  hardly  know  what  I  said,"  she  replied.  "  I  was 
almost  beside  myself  with  anger  and  mortification.  0 
Felix,  I  ara  afraid  you  hardly  know  what  a  wilful,  im- 
petuous girl  I  am." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  without  speaking,  then 
said,  with  great  seriousness,  "  Theodora,  I  know  you  are 
impetuous,  at  times  even  wilful ;  but  I  also  know  the 
truth,  the  generosity  of  your  nature.  The  strength  of 
character  which  has  led  you  to  make  any  sacrifice,  how- 
ever great,  which  your  conscience  told  you  was  right ; 
the  womanly  patience  with  which  you  have  borne  your 


THE   HARTWELL   FARM.  199 

sorrows  and  disappointments,  —  these,  in  my  eyes,  make 
you  seem  a  true  heroine." 

Could  it  be  possible  ?  Was  it  really  true  ?  Had  she 
unconsciously  reached  the  end  for  which  she  had  so  long 
been  striving?  She  could  not  speak,  her  joy  was  too 
great  for  utterance ;  but  she  looked  up  at  Mr.  Carlyle 
with  eyes  in  which  happiness  sat  enthroned. 

How  long  the  two  would  have  remained  there,  forget- 
ful of  all  the  world  but  each  other,  must  remain  an 
unanswered  question ;  for  while  they  were  yet  in  a 
delightful  state  of  oblivion  they  heard  the  study-door 
open,  and  Mr.  Hartwell's  footsteps  approaching  the  sit- 
ting-room. "Oh,  I  must  go!"  cried  Theodora,  in  a 
•whisper,  trying  to  disengage  herself  from  Mr.  Carlyle's 
arms  ;  "  father  is  coming  in  here." 

"No,  no,  my  darling,  you  must  not  go;  surely  you 
are  not  ashamed  to  see  him  ?  Leave  all  to  me." 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Hartwell  entered  the  room,  and 
Mr.  Carlyle  released  his  hold  of  Theodora.  "  Why  are 
the  lamps  not  lighted,  Theodora?"  asked  Mr.  Hartwell. 
"  Do  you  and  Mr.  Carlyle  prefer  sitting  in  the  twilight  ?  " 

Theodora  could  not  reply,  and  Mr.  Carlyle  came  to 
her  assistance,  saying,  "  We  did  not  need  the  lamps,  sir; 
we  have  been  discussing  a  very  important  question,  and 
I  hardly  think  we  knew  whether  they  were  lighted  or 
not." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  replied  Mr.  Hartwell,  absently,  as 
he  took  his  accustomed  seat  by  the  fireside,  and  Theo- 
dora proceeded  to  light  the  lamp.  "Mr.  Carlyle,  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  time  for  me  to  fix 
the  day  for  our  departure  from  the  farm.  I  fear  I  have 
already  lingered  too  long.  If  so,  I  know  you  will  par- 
don me ;  but  I  must  not  put  off  the  dreaded  day  of  part- 
ing any  longer,  and  I  have  decided  to  go  at  once.  I  hc.<re 
much  to  thank  you  for ;  you  —  " 


200  THE    HARTWELL   FARM. 

"Thank  me  for  nothing,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr.  Car- 
lyle, taking  the  hand  Mr.  Hartwell  extended  towards 
him;  "thank  me  for  nothing,  and  never  speak  of  leav- 
ing this  place,  for  as  long  as  you  live  your  home  shall 
be  here.  Mr.  Hartwell,  I  know  you  will  be  surprised 
at  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  —  I  love  your  daughter ; 
she  loves  me  in  return,  and  has  consented  to  become  my 
wife." 

Mr.  Hartwell  looked  at  Mr..  Carlyle  in  bewilderment; 
it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  believe  his  ears.  When 
Mr.  Carlyle  began  speaking,  Theodora  had  come  forward 
and  knelt  at  her  father's  feet,  with  her  face  buried 
on  his  arm.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  head  and  said, 
".Look  up,  my  daughter,  look  up,  Theodora,  and  tell  me 
if  you  love  this  man." 

Theodora  raised  her  head.  "  I  do,  father,"  she  an- 
swered, "as  truly  and  sincerely  as  I  believe  he  loves 
me." 

"  And  are  you  willing  to  trust  your  future  happiness 
in  his  hands?  Are  you  willing  to  become  his  wife?  " 

"I  am,"  she  replied,  firmly,  but  with  flushed  cheeks. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Hartwell,  taking  her  hand  and 
placing  it  in  that  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  "take  her,  with  my 
blessing.  I  resign  her  willingly  to  your  charge.  I 
know  you  will  be  a  faithful  husband  to  her.  She  has 
been  a  noble  daughter  to  me,  the  strength  and  comfort 
of  my  old  age ;  she  will  be  a  true,  affectionate  wife  to 
you.  My  dream  will  be  realized, — no  other  woman 
will  fill  the  place  in  this  house  her  mother  filled  ;  my 
declining  years  will  be  spent  under  the  old  roof,  and  one 
of  my  children  will  find  her  home  at  The  Hartwell 
Farm." 

FINIS. 


II  1    II    II     II'    »     "• 

A    000031711     5 


